Hurt Me

Cover Design: All by Design

Photo: Adobe Stock

Editor: Word Nerd Editing

Formatting: Champagne Book Design

protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and

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permission from the Author/Publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or

are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is

entirely coincidental.

From international bestselling authors, Ker Dukey

and K Webster comes a fast-paced, hot, MM

instalove standalone lunchtime read from their

KKinky Reads collection!

I got my dream at a young age.

The lead singer of one of the most popular bands in

the world—Berlin Scandal.

I’m a rock god.

But under the façade of living the dream, a twisted

secret consumes me.

Angry lyrics and a brooding attitude propelled my

career.

Getting wasted and lashing out behind the scenes

could be my downfall.

I’m spiraling and don’t know how to stop the

descent.

Now, my record label has issued me a babysitter.

Blaine Mannford, a hardass detective with a dark

thirst.

And he’s looking at me like I can quench it.

He’s not my type in more ways than one.

Bossy. Forceful. Firm. A man.

I don’t like cops. I don’t like him.

Unfortunately, he likes it when I fight him—enjoys

punishing me how he sees fit.

I’m screwed up in the head, because I’m a willing

player in his dirty game.

I want him to hurt me.

This is a steamy, kinky romance with a small

amount of BDSM themes sure to make you blush! A

perfect combination of sexy and intense you can

devour in one sitting! You’ll get a happy ending

that’ll make you swoon!

Pain has never been more addictive than when

he’s inflicting it.

For the ones who crave the sting of a whip.

The burn of a firm spank.

The ache of a bite.

Embrace the pain.

The hurt only makes the pleasure greater.

weat drips from our overheated skin, the

movements between us like a dance—skilled, fluid,
powerful. Each thrust finds purchase, creating a
game of stamina, strength, dominance. In sync,
heavy breathing echoes through the room.

I need this release, this outlet. We lost an

officer today—killed in the line of duty. My head
clears with each beat of my racing heart. It’s just
the two of us. I give, he takes. I pound, pushing my
body forward in powerful strokes.

“That’s good,” he tells me. “More.”
I give him more—bam, bam, bam. He falters,

feet stumbling backward. I drop my hands, gulping
down some air. Bruises blossom on my partner’s
cheek, just as I know they are on my jaw. Sparring
has become a tradition of sorts for us. Whenever
the job gets bad, we come to the gym to beat the
shit outta each other until we bleed out the ugly.

“You done?” I pull my gloves off and pat his

back.

He answers by swiping at his lip and nodding.
“Drinks?” I ask, hoping he says no. I want to

find myself a nice ass to sink into.

“Nah, Jess is cooking. You’re welcome to come

to dinner.”

“Pass. I’ve had your wife’s cooking before.

Spent two days married to the toilet.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.” He chuckles.
Showering and changing, I check the mirror for

cuts, sealing one on my brow with some tape before
heading out.

The bar is hopping. Fridays nights are always

busy. I like the noise that fills my head.

I flag down the bartender and order a couple

chasers and a beer, checking my phone while I
wait. I fire off a text to Ronan, and his brother,
Ren, to ask if they are coming in tonight. This place
is owned by Ronan’s girl, and she likes to make
appearances to keep the crowds piling in. Sofina is
a famous name these days, after Ronan, my best
friend and label owner, launched her career. I get
fast replies from them both. Ronan’s working, and
Ren sends a pic from inside Hush, a sex club our
friend owns.

Ren: Got plans ;)
“What are you smiling about?” a masculine

voice croons, the owner of said voice sidling up to

me and tipping his beer to my phone.

I recognize him from here. He’s looked my way

on more than one occasion, but never dared to
approach me. I usually like to do the hunting, but
tonight, I just want to fuck and sleep, so I drink the
chasers the bartender places down and lift my chin
to him.

“I was smiling at the thoughts running through

my head of the ways I could destroy you,” I
challenge, a smirk playing at my lips.

He gulps, his eyes never leaving mine. He’s tall

and has a sturdy frame with toned muscles. Smooth
features, a sweet, appealing face with shaggy
brown hair—the surfer type. If I had to guess, I’d
say early twenties. I like them young.

“Is that a promise or a challenge?” he asks,

licking his lips.

“It was a warning.” I grin. “Grab your coat.”

We’ve been back at my place for five fucking
minutes, and he’s already irritating me by trying to
top from the damn bottom.

“You wanna suck my dick?” he asks, rubbing

his hand down the bulge in his jeans.

I narrow my eyes. “Have you earned my lips on

your cock? Get fucking naked,” I bark.

He’s just about to drop his jeans when music

blasts from his pocket. Familiar fucking music. I
groan.

“Please tell me that’s not your ringtone,” I

grunt.

He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, looking

sheepish, his cheeks flushed. “Berlin Scandal. I
fucking love them. You know them? Their shit is
pretty catchy.” He grins, shoving his hand into his
pocket to pull out his phone.

I fucking know them all right. Their lead singer

is stalking my thoughts, haunting my fucking
dreams. Xavi Jacobs—a mouthy, little shit who
needs a firm hand to reign him in.

The boy in front of me taps over the screen,

then Berlin Scandal’s latest song starts over. Xavi’s
gravelly voice croons from the device, heating the
air and making my dick grow.

“I have their album on Spotify,” he tells me,

waving his phone. “I like to fuck to music, but I can
turn it off if you want.”

Rolling my shoulders, I drop my jeans and yank

my T-shirt over my head. My veins pump all the
blood in my body to my dick. “No, leave it on and
bend the fuck over.”

eroin.

I won’t touch that shit with a ten-foot pole. I

owe that much to Lex. It stole him from my
bandmate, Owen, and me. Owen’s little brother and
my best friend overdosed. He left us shredded and
raw. Exposed to the public, our wounds bleeding
for all to see.

Scrubbing my palm over my face, I try

desperately to keep the pain locked tight in the
cavernous hollow of my heart. When I’m here—
with them—I don’t want them to see I die a little
every fucking day without him.

I hate you, Lex.
The thought is like bitter sludge creeping

through my veins, infecting me worse than any
wicked hit of the brown.

I don’t hate him. I never could. That’s why he

died. Because I couldn’t fucking tell him no. I

couldn’t fucking get him to see he was slowly
killing himself.

And now, without him, I’m the one dying.
Music thumps, buzzing through me, reminding

me I’m not alone in my massive house. There are
hundreds of goddamn people milling about. Berlin
Scandal is the hottest alternative band this country
has seen since the 90s when Nirvana ruled the
charts. Our grungy style is considered “a homage to
the past.” We’ve opened for big acts like Pearl Jam,
Alice in Chains, and Foo Fighters, who are still
killing it despite doing this shit for decades. Where
they’re holding onto their old fan base who are my
parents’ age, Berlin Scandal is raking in all the
Harry Styles and teeny bopper kids fanatical over
our dark vibe.

We’re different, but familiar.
Sellable as fuck.
Thanks to Harose Records.
Irritation churns in my gut. Ren Hayes wooed

the hell out of us. Showed up at nearly every gig,
praising and fucking worshiping us. Owen, our lead
guitarist, begged me, Seth, and Riley into signing
with Harose. We were all still raw over Lex and
caved.

Money.
We’re fucking rolling in it, and have been since

we scribbled our names on the dotted lines. We’ve
toured twenty-six states in a matter of months. Our

debut album, Hurt Me, has gone platinum three
times as millions of people across the globe obsess
over our music.

This is everything we ever dreamed of.
What we wanted from the get-go.
We’re rich, popular, and get our dicks sucked

sometimes three times a night.

Everyone is happy…except me.
Owen can push the death of his brother two

years ago into a hole and stomp on the lid to keep it
shut, but I’m not wired that way. With each song I
write and lyric I belt into the microphone, I relive
the hurt of the night he left me. The pain is barbed
wire wrapped around my heart, piercing into the
broken organ and bleeding it dry. Each day is worse
than the last. I’d do anything to numb the constant
ache inside me, even if it means creating pain on
the outside.

I grab my pack of smokes before yanking one

out and pressing it between my lips. I flip open my
Zippo—one Lex gave me—and study the flame as
my cigarette dangles from my lips. Hot. Orange.
Bright. His old party trick was to hold the flame to
his flesh as long as he could and prove what a
badass he was. Lighting my cigarette, I suck in the
soothing, tainted air, then hold out my palm to tease
the flame of the Zippo beneath my pink flesh.
Searing hot pain erupts over my palm, sending
warning signals racing up my nerve endings.

I don’t flee.
I don’t stop.
I watch it burn.
When hot tears sting my eyes, I blink them

back and snap the Zippo shut. It still has the stupid
Chiquita banana sticker Lex stuck on it. On one
edge, it’s bent over and no longer sticky. I rub at it
with my thumb to press it back down, but it doesn’t
stay.

I smoke the hell out of my cigarette, until it

goes out. Stubbing it out on my forearm, I flick the
butt and stare at my palm.

My hand fucking hurts, and the skin is bubbled.
Too long.
Sometimes, I leave the flame on too long and

fuck myself up more than I intend. But because I’m
filthy fucking rich now, I have discreet doctors—
both the mental and physical kind—who keep me
loaded up on any medicinal shit I might need. With
a heavy sigh, I stalk into the bathroom in my room
and locate the cream I use for these instances.
Slathering it on, I grit my teeth. At least I’m not
thinking about the gaping wound inside me. I find
some gauze and roll it around my hand before
securing it with tape.

Owen’s going to be pissed.
We have a photoshoot in the morning

downtown with GQ. Some new-age rock star
bullshit magazine spread—something the label is

forcing us to do.

Every time I think about Harose, it makes me

think of Ronan Hayes. I like Ren just as much as
the rest of our band and signed the stupid contract,
but I have serious beef with his brother, Ronan.

Unease trickles through me. I won’t admit why

I have issues with him, not even to myself. He just
pushes his fist inside my heart and stirs up shit
that’s best kept hidden. It makes me hate him with
every ounce of my being. Like the spoiled fucking
brat I am, it makes me want to taunt him—ruin him
like his very existence ruins me.

I kind of enjoyed irritating him by acting out

and not being his perfect band singer.

But then he called in backup.
Six-foot three. Stacked as hell. A fucking

monster with a badge. Ronan only made me loathe
him more, because calling in backup for my “little
boy tantrums” only confused me.

Confused.
I hate that fucking word.
They use it for people trying to understand their

sexuality. I don’t need to figure mine out. I was just
fine fucking anything with a pair of tits until Lex
overdosed and stole my goddamn soul. I was
eighteen when I lost him—barely got to spend any
time with him in this life. Now, when I see someone
who reminds me of my best friend, I have the urge
to yank them to me so I can press a thousand damn

kisses to their mouth.

That’s confusing, yes.
But what really burns me up is it’s not just the

rare, lanky guy with a lazy smile. It’s guys like
Ronan and Asshole Cop. That part’s not confusing,
it’s infuriating.

I’m not attracted to men.
I just miss my best friend.
And because of his death, I’m drawn to guys

like him. My heart begs to get a glimpse of Lex
within each one. It’s cruel and unusual torture. If I
didn’t think Dr. Maggs would shove more
unnecessary drugs down my throat, I’d ask him to
help me get these maddening thoughts out of my
head.

But what if he tells someone?
My entire career is based on the fact that I’m a

sex god who sings like a fucking dark angel. Girls—
by the hundreds of thousands—cry and collapse
when they see us. It’s fucking strange and oddly
empowering. What happens when they find out I’m
ungrateful? That I wish they were a hundred
thousand Lex lookalikes instead? That sometimes I
get hot thinking about Ronan yelling at me and
throwing shit in his rage. Or that I’ve jacked off
more times than I can count to the memory of
Asshole Cop manhandling me into submission any
time I lose it at Ronan’s office.

I’m fucked.

I’m not gay or confused.
Just fucked in the head.
I storm out of the bathroom and dig around in

my nightstand until I find some mollies. In the past,
two or three would get me nice and loose, but now,
I require more. I choke down four and chase them
with an open bottle of Jack. As soon as my skin
starts to tingle, I abandon Jack and exit the safe
confines of my room to find pussy—my other drug
of choice.

“Oh, God,” a girl yells out as soon as I leave

the wing of my house that’s off limits and join the
party. “Look at him! Look at him!”

I glance toward the sound of her voice and size

her up. Short. Big tits. Nice wide hips to hold onto.
The pink fabric of her leggings stretches over her
thick thighs, and I want to tear them off with my
teeth.

Fuck yes.
This is me.
Finding a nice piece of ass who worships the

ground I walk on to drive my dick into. Not
whatever the fuck I was twenty minutes ago.

Pink Leggings Girl beams at me, jiggling her fat

tits as she bounces in place. She pulls out her phone
and

starts

recording

she

chants,

“Omigodomigodomigod.”

Flashing her a lazy grin, I saunter over to her

and pose. Tomorrow, this video will be all over

social media—one more thing for my parents to
lecture me about whenever they call.

“I like your tits,” I say with a wicked grin.

“Songs are written about tits like yours.” I reach
between us and rub my fingers over the front of her
leggings between the juncture of her thighs. “Your
thighs, though, are what wars are fought over.”

The girl fucking swoons on her feet, nearly

dropping her phone.

“Turn off the phone and play with me,” I taunt

as I grip her wrist and drag her behind me through
the crowd.

Pink Leggings Girl loses the phone in her

cleavage to latch herself to me. I pass Owen on a
sofa. Some brunette bitch is riding him buck-ass
naked in front of everyone. Riley is passed out,
already in a recliner like an old man, his drumsticks
hugged to his chest like they might run away in his
sleep. Seth will be ready to party, though. I can
always count on our bassist to get fucked up with
me.

I find him outside by my pool, emphatically

telling a story, his massive tattooed arms waving
wildly around him. Coke dusts his nose. He’s flying
as high as a fucking kite. I give Pink Leggings Girl a
little tweak to her nipple through her shirt before
meeting with my boy.

“Zaveeeeeeee,” he calls out, launching himself

at me for a bear hug. When we first met as teens,

he kept fucking up the pronunciation of my name.
Xavi. Easy as fuck. But this motherfucker kept
saying it like “Exavee.” I got pissed and barked out
“za” and then “vee.” Even fucking wrote it down
so he’d get it. Now, he calls me Zavee. Which is
exactly how you say it, but I know this
motherfucker sees it spelled the wrong way in his
head.

“What’s up, snowflake?” I slap my sore hand

on his shoulder as we hug.

“We’re rollin’ hard tonight waiting on your lazy

ass.”

He pulls away slightly to grin at me. His shirt is

missing, and he’s sweating like a damn pig. Every
woman in this place salivates over his tattoos and
muscles. Seth’s the body of our group. The one all
the girls want to fuck. I’m the face—the one they
all want to look up at while they suck cock. Owen’s
clearly the dick and our fearless leader, and Riley? I
don’t know what the fuck Riley is.

I drag my eyes down his front, wishing I had

half the muscle mass he does. When he’s not
getting fucked up, he works out hard. My lazy ass
just watches. Thank fuck I was born with good
genes. My workout is the stage when I play guitar
with Owen and sing my fucking soul out.

“You and your girl come to party?” He throws

his arm over my shoulders so he can check out Pink
Leggings Girl.

She blushes and gazes at us with stars in her

eyes.

Seth whistles at her. “Damn, sweetheart, you

are lookin’ fine in those bubblegum pants. My boy
here likes to share.” He looks up at me, smirking.
We’ve fucked the same woman a time or two.
Okay, so maybe more than two.

“Um, yeah?” she says, beaming. “I’m down for

whatever. I love you guys. I’ve been obsessed with
you both since I heard your first song.”

“And you haven’t even seen Zavee’s pretty

dick yet, doll,” Seth says with a laugh as he boldly
grabs it through my jeans. “Aw, he’s hard too. My
boy’s always hard and ready to fuck.”

I shove his hand off my cock. “She’s mine

tonight,” I snap, anger surging up inside me. “Go
find your own piece of ass.”

The girl smiles shyly at me, like I just told her

she’s the one and I’m going to fucking marry her.
Truth is, I don’t trust myself right now. Not with
Seth looking like a fucking snack and grabbing on
my cock like he owns it.

Seth plays off my anger and grabs my arm to

guide me over to a table. He nods at one of the
guys chopping some blow with a razor. Needing the
fire, I lean forward, snorting a line from the plate.
Seth slaps my ass, laughing, and I fucking explode.

Swirling around, I clock him right in the fucking

face. He may be bigger than me, but he’s stunned

by my aggression. Blood spurts from his nose, and
my first thought is how pissed Ronan will be that I
fucked Seth’s face up before our photoshoot
tomorrow.

Seth, raging like a bull, charges. He slams into

me, knocking me hard to the ground. His fist hits
my ribs, and pain slices through me. I manage to
flip him over and glance up in time to see Pink
Leggings Girl filming me again. I grin at the
camera.

BAM!
My vision goes black as Seth punches me. I’m

about to swing again when two guys rush us. Owen
starts yelling at Seth while Riley steps between us.
Seth and I are both hellbent on getting to the other,
but Owen and Riley—the only two people who
truly care about us—prevent that from happening.

“What the actual fuck?” Owen demands, his

pants hanging open where he’s barely pulled them
up over his still hard dick after his getting laid in my
living room. One of his hands is on Seth’s chest,
pushing him away from me.

I drag my eyes from the visible part of Owen’s

cock and hate myself for wondering what he smells
like there. Who the fuck wonders that shit?

Riley holds me back when I start forward, my

eyes latching on Seth’s. Regret washes over his
features. It’ll be all over social media in the
morning and we both know it. When I hear sirens,

Owen curses.

“Come on,” Riley growls. “Let’s get you out of

here.”

I break from his hold. My body is buzzing from

the drugs and my fists ache to pummel Seth some
more. But my eyes keep sliding to Owen’s dick.
Dark, trimmed hair. Tattoos all over his lower
abdomen. Did Lex have the same cock?

Pain assaults me from the inside out, exploding

like a bomb.

I charge for Owen, hellbent on making him pay

too. I’ve barely raised my fist before Riley yanks
me back. My foot swings out, and I clip Owen in
the nuts with my boot. He howls, then charges,
sending me and Riley splashing into the pool. The
cold water is a wakeup call as we sputter and swim
to the surface.

So many phones.
Everywhere.
How do I explain this to Mom and Dad?
And Ronan.
Holy shit…and Asshole Cop.
I wish I could fucking drown right now.

ulling up to my condo after working fifteen hours

straight, I debate ignoring the ringing of my cell
phone. Ronan’s name flashes like a warning, and
despite my need for sleep, I answer.

“What’s up, Hayes? Don’t you know what time

it is? Shouldn’t you be curled around your little girl
sleeping like a baby?”

His deep chuckle fades into a groggy growl,

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I should be doing, but
that punk-ass motherfucker is being live-streamed
brawling with his bandmates.”

An internal snarl rumbles my chest. I pinch the

top of my nose to ease the tired ache. “I’ll cool
things over.” I exhale on a frustrated breath.

“I owe you.” He sighs.
“You always owe me. One day, I’ll collect,” I

grunt, grinning. He knows I’m lying. Ronan Hayes
is my best friend and would do anything for me. I’ll

do him this favor—and the next when it arises.

The punk-ass motherfucker in question is Xavi

Jacobs. A guy propelled into stardom at a real
young age. The kid is fucking troubled, which is
leading him into trouble. He’s acting out. It’s a
fucking cry for help if I ever saw one. But it’s tough
to get through to entitled fuckers like him. Ronan’s
patience is wearing real thin. If Berlin Scandal
didn’t make a fuck load of money for his record
label, he’d drop them like hot coal.

I’ve had to babysit this kid before.
His eyes are full of pain.
A dark cloud of sorrow and regret follow him

around, drenching him in misery.

I’ve seen it so many times before. He’s

burdened and needs a way to release the hurt. Self-
sabotage is his weapon of choice. It boils my blood
watching someone so talented with the world at his
feet act out so recklessly.

My palm twitches. I want to teach him how to

release that pain in a way beneficial for him—
pleasurable. Fuck! I need to get this kid out my
head. There’s something about him that calls to the
depravity inside me—the Dom—the daddy—the
sadist.

Pulling onto his street, I flash my badge at the

security guy standing at the gate leading up to
Xavi’s mansion. He waves me in with a defeated
shrug.

Red and blue lights flash across the dark night

sky, and I groan. Someone called the cops, making
this more of a ball ache than I anticipated.

Raised voices bark and screech over the blaring

music as I get out of the truck. A crowd has
gathered on the front lawn, flashes from cell phones
flickering like fireflies as they capture clickbait
images.

They call themselves friends or fans, but

they’re scavengers feeding on the carcasses of the
band members they claim to worship. And their
favorite is Xavi Jacobs.

I push through the throngs of people, moving

toward bickering voices. Three people, facedown,
being detained in handcuffs, come into view. Three
quarters of the band.

“Where’s Xavi?” I call out to O’Neil, a uniform

I know from the precinct.

O’Neil’s face contorts in confusion. “This is

just a disturbing the peace complaint. No need for
you to be here, sir,” he assures me.

“I’ll tell you where I need to be. Let them up,”

I tell him, nodding to the band eating dirt.

They’re pulled to their feet. All but one of them

is shirtless and soaking wet. Blood drips from the
nose of the big fella, who I think plays bass. His
brow crashes and jaw ticks with frustration. What a
fucking mess.

“Where’s Xavi?” I demand again.

Shaking his head, he growls, “He won’t get out

of the pool.”

“He’s out back with Davis,” O’Neil grumbles,

pointing to a side gate while un-cuffing the other
guys.

“Clear these people out,” I bark out. “And

someone turn that fucking music off.”

“Hey,” the big guy spits out, “that’s our music.”
Smirking, I walk over to him, all six-foot-three,

two hundred and forty pounds of muscle. He’s big,
but I’m bigger. Intimidation flickers in his eyes as I
stand toe to toe with him.

“Keep this shit up, and the only music you’ll be

making is from a prison shower while the inmates
decide which one gets to make you their bitch.”

“It was Xavi.” He lifts his chin. “He swung at

me.”

Xavi comes barreling through the gate wearing

only a soaked pair of jeans, the top button undone,
and no shoes. A wet, snapped cigarette hangs from
his lips and an unraveling bandage flies like a
twirling ribbon from his hand.

He laughs through pinched lips, looking over his

shoulder at Officer Daniels, who’s chasing him at a
snail’s pace, huffing and puffing. The fucker is
older than all these guys combined. Xavi’s eyes
clash with mine, and his feet falter. He skids on the
grass, almost falling face-first. Placing my hands on
my hips, I glare at him. His shoulders deflate,

realizing playtime is over.

“I’ve got this, Daniels,” I tell the officer who

waves a defeated hand in the air, bending to drag
air into his burning lungs before he limps back to
his squad car mumbling curses under his breath.

“Go get the place cleaned up,” I tell the other

band members. They groan, but do as their told.
Good boys.

The place has been cleared of adoring fans,

and the music is finally shut off. The yard is fucking
trashed and not one asshole sticks around to offer
to clean this shit up. Who needs enemies when you
have friends who destroy your place and air your
discrepancies online?

“Why do you make me come over here when I

should be in bed right now?” I growl, snatching the
cigarette from Xavi’s mouth, dropping it to the
ground, and crushing it under my boot.

He’s glares at me with balls of steel. Xavi’s a lot

smaller than me, lean and natural. Where I lift and
bulk up, his muscles are subtle and slender. Like a
typical drugged-up rock star living his “best” life.

“I’m not stopping you from going to bed,

Grandpa.” He crosses his arms over his chest and
grins, showing off a perfect set of white teeth
stained from a cut on his lip. This kid needs
discipline, and I crave to dish it out. My eyes focus
on the crimson spilt in his bottom lip. I ache to bite
him there—to push the burn and see if he breaks.

“Get in the fucking house before I lose my shit

and they have to take me away in the squad car,” I
warn, pointing to the open door.

“We were fucking around,” he gripes. “Some

prick called the cops. It’s a misunderstanding.”

“You were being live-streamed acting like a

fucking idiot. You’re supposed to be a family, a
band bonded through friendship. That’s not the way
best friends act. Do you even like each other?”

His features darken with fury.
“We love each other. We’re brothers,” he snaps

as soon as we're inside, picking up a bottle of beer
from a table and throwing it against the wall beside
me. It shatters with a crash, and the shards rebound
on contact, littering the room. His deep brown eyes
widen as my face hardens.

I march toward him, grabbing him around the

throat and pushing his back against a wall. I close
in, drowning him with my size. He doesn’t resist or
attempt to release my grip. His Adam’s apple bobs
beneath my palm. Color tints his cheeks. This turns
him on. Heat roars through me, demanding
attention. Pushing my thumb against the spilt on his
lip, I smirk when he gasps and his pupils dilate.
Blood blooms and coats the pad of my thumb.
Delicious.

“I think you just want me to put you in my

cuffs,” I taunt, pushing into him until we’re flush
against the other.

“Fuck you,” he mumbles past the pressure I’m

applying there with my thumb.

“I do the fucking, boy. Keep giving me this lip,

and I’ll fuck that pretty mouth of yours just to shut
you up.”

His body goes rigid—even his cock. A storm

rages in his eyes, and then the spell is broken when
a girl in pink tights with tits spilling from her top
that’s too small for her build comes through the
front door, distracting us both. “Oh, I’m sorry,
officer.” She startles when she sees us. “I just
wanted to give Xavi his cell phone. It got knocked
from his pocket when the whole fight thing
started.” She shrugs.

I take it from her, releasing Xavi. “Thanks,

darling.” I wink, and a crimson blush blooms on her
cheeks.

“I put my number in there, Xavi. Call me?” She

bites her lip and waves before leaving.

Swiping the screen, I’m granted access. I shake

my head in astonishment. “You don’t lock your
phone?”

“Why would I?” he argues in a petulant way

that’s going to earn him punishment one day—from
me. “It’s usually only me who has it.”

“Until you do stupid shit like lose it while

hitting your fucking bandmates because you have a
chip on your shoulder and won’t admit you need
help,” I growl, fury rippling through me.

How fucking stupid can he be?
These people just want to use and abuse him.
He’s entertainment to them. Not a person. A

fucking show—a shitshow at that.

“I don’t need help. I’m twenty years old. Rich

and famous. Being a fuck-up is exactly what I’m
supposed to be doing.”

Laughing, I pin him with a narrowed stare.

“You think getting everything you want in life
entitles you to be a dick?”

“Who said this is everything I want?” he snaps,

swiping the cell from my hands. “You shouldn’t
assume shit, Detective.”

I take a calming breath, pinning him in place

with my intense stare. Beneath the angry exterior is
a very broken boy. He needs someone to put him
back together.

“Go make peace with your band. Ronan’s going

to have to make miracles happen to fix this mess.”

“Are you just going to show up every time I

fuck up?” He smirks, folding his arms over his
chest. Wet strands of curled hair hang down over
his face. I want to fist it in my hands.

Licking my lips, I run my gaze up his body. He

squirms. “Is that why you keep getting into trouble?
In hopes I’ll come discipline you?” I mutter in a
deep growl.

His jaw tenses and his arms drop, hands curling

into fists. “What? No,” he huffs out in a defensive

tone. “Why the fuck would I want that?”

Because it’s written all over your damn face.
“Calm down, boy. I’m just fucking with you.” I

smirk. “Are you going to behave if I leave? I don’t
want to be called back out here for this juvenile
shit. When I make early hour house calls, I expect
to be inflicting the carnage, not cleaning it up.” I
raise a brow in challenge.

His features furrow, trying to figure out what I

mean. He’ll find out one day—when he’s ready to
admit to himself why he’s lashing out all the damn
time.

He concedes with a nod, but doesn’t meet my

penetrating stare anymore. “I’m going to sleep it
off. I’ll talk to everyone in the morning.”

“Good plan. Sweet dreams.” With that, I leave

him. I slipped my number in his phone when Pink
Tights gave it to me. Next time he’s feeling weird
and wants to act out, hopefully he’ll think twice
and call me.

I climb into my truck and call Ronan. He picks

up on the second ring. That poor bastard didn’t get
to go back to sleep.

“Hey, what’s happening?” He exhales heavily.
“I’ve cleared the house out. They’re going to

sleep it off. You’ll need to do some press control
and get them out in the public eye together—a
united front—as soon as possible.”

“Already on it. That fucker makes me lose too

much sleep. He’s out of control,” he grinds out.

“He’s hurting, Ronan. He needs therapy.”
“He needs a firm hand.” Ronan snorts.
“Well, that too.” I grin, despite him not being

able to see me.

“What do you suggest?”
“I’ll do what I can,” I assure him. “Just leave it

with me.”

I end the call and wait for the lights inside to

shut off before I drive my tired ass home.

“R

uined!” the stylist complains the moment all

four of us heathens walk into the GQ studio.
“Where’s Marcus? Someone get me Marcus!”

Seth smirks. “This is your fault, Zavee.”
We’re battered and bruised and hungover as

fuck. Definitely my fault. At least my bandmates
are used to my shit. Seth was quickest to forgive,
followed by Riley. Owen is speaking to me, but he’s
still pissed.

“We look edgy,” I argue, shrugging.
“Edgy, young, and dumb,” a deep voice

rumbles from behind us. “Still sellable, thank fuck.”

Ren Hayes strides over to us, clasping me on

the shoulder. “You assholes are all over social
media. I’ve been on a Twitter frenzy saving your
asses.” He’s smiling—which is good. Smiling is
definitely good.

“We’re brothers. We fight,” I state like it’s

nothing. Brothers don’t get turned on by each other
then get pissed over it. They may be brothers to me,
but last night, fueled by alcohol, my stupid body
reacted to Owen’s half naked state. He looks so
damn much like his brother, it’s painful at times. I
wasn’t thinking clearly because of the toxic shit
running through my veins—nothing more.

I’m not gay.
So why the hell am I acting like it?
While Ren discusses his strategy to spin our

fight into something he can use, I break off from
the group and plop down in a chair. I check social
media and inwardly cringe. It fucking sucks we’re
always on display. There’s always some “groupie”
waiting to capture all the moments. Good and bad.
Mostly bad. I miss the days when we’d rock out in
Lex and Owen’s garage. Riley would beat on the
drums, annoying the shit out of every adult in a
one-mile radius. Lex didn’t have a musical bone in
his body, but he was our official mascot.

And official drug dealer.
Fuck, we spun out of control so fast. Especially

him. Where we focused on the music and making
demos to send to labels. He focused on getting high.
My best friend went down while we went up. And
then he stayed down. Six-feet under.

Pain numbs me. The urge to hunt down a bar is

strong. Instead, I pull out my Zippo.

Flick.

Burn.
The orange flame dances under the vent of the

air conditioner above me, threatening to blow out.
Kind of like me. Just barely hanging on while
everything works against me. I snap the lighter shut
and rub the sticker down again.

God, I miss him.
Someone laughs from nearby, stealing me from

my melancholy. Owen—as unofficial leader of our
band—waves his hands in the air as he explains his
newest idea to Ren. I stare at him for a long time,
just taking a moment to drink how much he looks
like Lex. Riley shoots me a sympathetic smile. Seth
playfully flips me off.

I can’t believe we fucking fought.
In front of everyone.
I don’t deserve them. They’d do so much better

with a more responsible front man. One who isn’t
so fucked in the head. One who doesn’t hate
himself and the life he’s graciously been given.

My mind drifts to Asshole Cop, otherwise

known as Blaine. He gets under my skin like Ronan
does. But where Ronan flips his shit and wants to
explode on me, Blaine acts like he wants to possess
me. His dark brown eyes don’t just look at me, they
look into me. Through me. Inspect every cell inside
me. It’s intrusive as fuck. I hate that he has that
ability.

I don’t want to be seen.

Yes, you do.
What I hate more is the way my body lights up

like the flame from my Zippo. Instead of scarring
my flesh and grounding me, he burns me from the
inside out, incinerating my very being. It’s fucking
maddening.

I can’t help but remember the way he grabbed

my throat and pushed me against the wall. If I were
smart, I would’ve been intimidated by his sheer
strength and size. The dude could break me with a
snap of his wrist.

But he didn’t break me.
He held me in place, his body heating mine and

eyes penetrating me. They made promises—
promises I had no hope of interpreting. Threats and
warnings. If I kept my shit up, he’d make me
behave. My dick jolts in my jeans and anger surges
through me.

Fuck him.
He’s not my dad.
He doesn’t sign my checks.
The guy’s a fuckin’ cop with an attitude.

Probably goes home each night and jerks off to
videos of me singing. He doesn’t get to touch me or
mold me or fucking tell me what to do. I’m not his,
nor will I ever be. His eyes told a story—one that
said he’d love nothing more than to bend me over
and take my ass. Gay was written all over the way
he pinned me in a dominating way. Well,

motherfucker, too damn bad. I bat for the other
team. I’m into chicks with fat tits, slick cunts, and
tight leather molded to their round asses. I like hair
I can grab onto and a perfumed neck I can suck on.

I don’t want muscles and scruff.
I don’t fucking need a cock. Already got one.
And still…I can’t get it out of my head—the

way he pinned me—the control that radiated from
him—his desire to possess and own me.

He had the power to do it too.
“Let’s get this shit over with,” I bark out. “I’m

ready to get drunk, and you assholes are coming
with me.”

We’re at some swanky as shit bar our dumb asses
don’t belong in. Stirring up trouble. It’s what we do.
These fuckers are rich as hell. Like us. But they
don’t think we belong here.

Their wives fucking do.
I wink at a blonde with huge tits spilling out of

her expensive red dress. She has her hand around
her wimpy husband’s bicep, but her cheeks redden
when our eyes lock. I make sure to eye-fuck her tits
so she doesn’t misinterpret my intentions.

Yeah, sweetheart. If you want a good time,

follow us to the VIP lounge.

She bites on her plump red lip, considering my

silent offer, but her husband drags her in the
opposite direction, spoiling my fucking fun. Too
bad. I’d have let her suck my dick. I’d have let her
husband watch too. He looks like the cuckold type.
Fucking pansy.

By the time we reach the roped-off VIP section,

both Owen and Seth have collected women along
the way. Riley hangs back with me, shrugging off
the advances of a few women. It makes me wonder
if he’s gay. He doesn’t get with women a lot. I’ve
never seen him with a man, though.

Why do I care if he’s gay?
I don’t.
He can be whatever the fuck he wants to be as

long as I don’t have to watch him dick it to some
dude. What would Owen say?

As soon as we make it into the private space, I

head for the bar. The bartender is a guy close to my
age. He grins when he sees me.

“Berlin Scandal,” he says. “No way. You guys

are my fucking idols.”

I smile back. “Oh yeah? What’s your favorite

song?”

His green eyes drop to my lips for a moment

and he leans forward. “‘Into the Fire.’ The lyrics
are amazing.”

“Into the Fire” is one of my favorites. It’s a

tribute to Lex.

“Good choice,” I agree. “Get me the good shit.

I’m getting fucked up tonight.”

His smile goes wider. “I’m Devon. Whatever

you want, I can get it. Anything.” A knowing smirk
plays at his lips. “All you have to do is ask, Xavi.”

I like this guy already.
“Let’s start with a round for my band. And then

you can show me the top shelf stuff a little later.” I
nod, dropping a credit card on the bar and sliding it
toward him. “Have one yourself, yeah? Or two.” I
wink, knowing full well if I worked here with the
rich bastards flashing their credit cards I’d be
skimming a nice tip off the top.

His eyes widen in surprise. “Thanks…I’ll

definitely show you the good stuff later.” He
smirks.

I bet they keep some special shit in the back

they only bring out when the real famous people
show up.

He leaves me to go make a drink. When he

comes back, his entire demeanor has changed.
Sliding the shot my way, his stare lingers, dissecting
me.

Green eyes flicker with interest as he darts

them to my mouth. “You want the good stuff? I
have some really good stuff. If you’re still standing
later, I’ll bring it?”

Sounds like a goddamn challenge. I don’t ever

back down from those.

“Oh, I’ll be the one still standing later.” I knock

back the shot and slam it on the bar. “Keep these
coming, Green Eyes.” What the fuck did he say his
name was again?

He rewards me with a wide smile. “You got it.”
After about the sixth shot, I glance around to

see what my brothers are up to. Riley is in a heated
discussion with a couple dudes in suits. Seth is
telling a loud ass story, his voice traveling above the
music. Owen has his tongue down a redhead’s
throat. Business as usual.

“I get off at two,” the green-eyed bartender

tells me, pushing another shot my way.

So?
Do I look like I need a play-by-play of his

schedule?

“Cool, man,” I utter, sucking down another

shot. He was right, this shit is good.

“We could continue this party later. At my

place,” he offers. His palm opens, and a couple
familiar happy pills smile back at me.

“Thanks, er, Deacon?” I take the pills from him

and swallow them dry. “As long as Owen can bring
his bitches, he’ll go anywhere.”

“Devon,” he corrects with a grin. His attention

slides over to Owen before darting back to my
mouth. Seriously. What the fuck? Do I have some
shit on my mouth?

“He can have his women, so long as I get you

all to myself.” He walks away to serve another
drink, and I stare at him in confusion. When he
senses me looking, he turns and winks at me.

Wait.
Is this fucking guy into me?
I’m backpedaling at warped speed as I look at

the entire night with new eyes. This fucker’s been
flirting with me. I didn’t even realize it. Hell, it
could be misinterpreted that I flirted back. The E is
buzzing through my veins, and my dick is
thickening beyond my control. I check out the
tattoos on Devon’s neck, and Blaine the party
pooper pops in my head. I rake my gaze down over
him. He has a solid back like Blaine, leading down
to a firm ass in his black pants. Holy fuck. No. No!
What the fuck am I thinking? Fuck! There’s
something wrong with me.

Devon saunters back over to me and pours

another shot into a glass. I reach for the bottle
instead. His grip on it is tight, so my hand just holds
onto his.

“I could lose my job if I give you this bottle,”

he says, frowning. “Just let me pour you a drink
and I promise I’ll take care of you better when we
get home.”

I jerk back my hand, heat burning through me.

Anger. Rage. Fury. Shame. Lust. Fuck no. Fuck no.
Fuck no.

“I gotta take a piss,” I slur out, eager to get

away from him and the wrong as hell impression he
has about me. I down the shot, then stagger away.

As I push into the bathroom, someone follows

me in. I swivel around, ready to whip some ass, but
stop short. It’s Devon. His eyes are on fire as he
closes in on me. Shock paralyzes me as his hands
grip my face and his lips press to mine. Because of
the E and the fucking alcohol, I stand stock-still
while his tongue prods at my mouth to open for
him.

But my wrecked mind goes fucking crazy.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snarl with

a shove, sending him stumbling back. “Do I look
fucking gay to you?”

His green eyes widen. “You flirted with me all

night, man. I caught you checking me out. Of
course I thought you were fucking gay.”

“I wasn’t checking you out,” I bellow, charging

for him. “I’m not gay, asshole.”

I shove him again, and he shoves me back.
“I fucking idolize you, dude, but not this. I

don’t need this shit in my life,” he mutters, shaking
me off. “You need to take a hard look at yourself,
Xavi. What you see is not what everyone else
sees.”

What the hell does that mean?
I swing at him, but he ducks out of the way

before storming out of the bathroom. I’m a raging
bull and slip into one of the stalls to calm my

thoughts so I don’t destroy the entire club. My first
instinct is to check social media. To see if he’s
telling the whole fucking world I’ve been flirting
with him. I fucking wasn’t…right? Panic seizes me
as I fly through each account, searching for any
hint of my encounter with Devon. On Twitter, I find
a picture someone took of me at the bar smiling at
Devon with the hashtag #IWantInOnThatSandwich.

I screenshot it and text it to Ren. That shit

freaks me out. People will run with it, and then
what? What the hell happens?

Me: Make this go away.
Ren: What?
Me: This gay bullshit!
Ren: You’re having a drink at a bar. There’s

nothing gay about that. You okay?

Me: When I kick Devon’s ass, there’ll be

something wrong with that!

Ren: Xavi, calm your shit. Who is Devon?
Me: The guy in the picture.
Ren: The bartender? There’s a million

pictures every day of celebrities propped on a
bar, Xavi. Why are you freaking out? Stop self-
medicating on pills. It’s making you paranoid.

Whatever, man.
I storm out of the bathroom and down the

hallway to the alley around the back of the
building. As soon as I’m free of the suffocating
confines of the club, I suck in gulps of air.

I’m going to beat Devon’s ass.

Punch his pretty boy face in.
Fuck, I’m a dick.
It’s not his fault.
I’m losing my goddamn mind.
My phone buzzes, and I swipe it open to find a

text from Blaine. Blaine? When the hell did I get
his number and put it in my phone?

Blaine: Ren says you’re having a meltdown.
What the fuck?
Me: Some guy just tried to make out with me

in the bathroom. I’m going to kill him. Oops,
probably better not to admit that to a damn cop.

Blaine: You’re not going to touch him.
Anger explodes inside me. I kick the dumpster,

letting loose a roar of frustration.

Me: You’re not in charge of me!
Blaine: Stop being a brat and listen. You’re

going to sit your ass down right now and wait for
me.

Heat chases away the anger, licking at my balls

like a horny bitch.

Me: Fuck you.
Blaine: Don’t say things you can’t handle.
I blink in shock.
Me: I’m not into men, asshole.
Blaine: And I’m not in the mood to deal with

your shit, boy, but here we are.

Me: You’re really coming here? To do what?

Handcuff me?

Blaine: For as much as you throw that in my

face, I’m starting to think you want it.

Me: Fuck you.
Blaine: Keep it up, boy. Keep it the fuck up.
My cock jolts at his words. It’s certainly up all

right.

Me: I don’t need you to come solve my

problems.

Blaine: You sure as hell can’t handle them on

your own. Address. Now.

God, he’s bossy as fuck. I want to fight him on

this, but mostly, I want to get the hell out of here. If
I go back in there, I’m going to punch Devon and
ruin everyone’s night. I already ruined last night. I
sure as hell don’t want to make a habit of this.

Defeated, I give him the name of the club and

tell him I’m sitting in front of the dumpster. Like
trash. How fucking appropriate. I lean against the
metal and pull out my Zippo.

Flick. Burn.
Flick. Burn.
I open and close the lighter, staring at the flame.

In the dark, alone, with the fucking Calvary on its
way, it flames brighter and hotter. I pinch the
orange flame with my thumb and finger, hissing at
the sting. Snapping the lighter closed, I lick my
wounded fingers.

I can’t believe I just told a cop where I’m at.

I’m wasted, fucked up on E, and pissed as hell—
and I gave him directions to come to me. If that’s

not the definition of stupid, I don’t know what is. If
Lex were here, he’d thump me in the head and call
me a dumb shit.

Fuck.
Why Lex?
Why’d you have to leave me?
You were my best friend.
My chest aches. Would we have stayed best

friends, or would it have evolved into more? If Lex
would have kissed me, would I have let him?

I don’t like analyzing that shit. It’s in the past,

and it doesn’t matter. He’s fucking dead. I can be
gayer than a bucket of rainbows, but it still won’t
raise him from the dead so I can lock lips with him.

Aching pain radiates inside me, killing the only

parts left living. One day, I’m afraid it’ll consume
me altogether. I don’t know what happens then. It’s
fucking terrifying.

Needing a break from my inner turmoil, I flip

open my Zippo again.

Flick. Burn.
The flame sizzles my arm hair as I hold it

against my forearm. It hurts, but steals my focus.
All my thoughts and emotions are erased as I
harness the pain and get high from it. When I can’t
take it anymore, I close the lighter and lay on the
gravel. The world spins around me, so I close my
eyes. My forearm throbs, and I let it beat through
me like the cadence of Riley’s drums. In my head, I

make up lyrics for it. Move around the words
attached to feelings and string them up in a pattern.
No longer chaos inside, but music. A song. A
reason. My deep voice rumbles as I hum along the
notes forming.

The chaos is all-consuming.
One day, if I can’t latch onto it and make it

work for me in the form of music, what happens?
Do I go fucking crazy from all the maddening
thoughts? If only Lex could see me now, curled up
on my side in front of a dumpster, humming a song
only I know while praying for motherfucking
peace.

I’m pathetic.
Twisted and lost.
I need help.
Shakily, I lift my Zippo.
Flick. Burn.
The flame scorches my wrist until a hot tear

leaks from the corner of my eyes, forcing me to
drop the Zippo.

I need fucking help.

ush, a sex club owned by a good friend of mine,

is where I come when I need to let the beast loose.
Willing playmates line up to sate my dark cravings
here. Yet, tonight, I can’t seem to get myself in the
right headspace. I’m preoccupied with a particular
fucker who just happens to be blasting through the
stereo system with his new song flying high in the
charts right now.

I hate that I know that. Know what songs are

his, how well he’s doing, what he’s doing, where
he’s doing it. Am I the hunter or am I the fucking
prey?

I should be focused on my new case, but I’m

far from fucking focused lately. My mind is
storming like a raging ocean ready to crash to shore
to see if a certain boy can handle the wave I’m
ready to drench him in.

The lyrics croon from the room, teasing me, his

voice caressing the place in a sexy undertone,
setting the mood. It reminds me of the pumping of
my pulse after a rough fuck, and I can’t stop
thinking about having that boy pinned against the
wall.

His broken, self-destructive attitude speaks to

the healer inside me—to the detective driven to
dissecting and finding a satisfactory resolution. But
that fucking smirk and disobedient spark speaks to
the Dom I am. Makes me want to cuff him, teach
him all the ways I can bring him to his knees and
make him beg for my firm punishment.

“Another?” Ren pipes up, reminding me I’m

not alone.

I tip my beer bottle to my lips and drain the last

of the liquid. “Nah, I want to keep a clear head.”

He’s fucking smirking. I can feel it in his tone

when he says, “Big plans tonight? Levi has been
eye-fucking you since you sat your ass down.” I
follow the path of his gaze to Levi, the bartender
who has been trying to get me in his pants since the
dawn of time.

I don’t like to fuck around with Joshua’s staff.

It’s disrespectful to him and will always lead to
drama. Levi would no doubt be a good fuck, but
that’s all I’d want from him—to ruin him for other
men. I know he would be one of those clingy guys
thinking they have what it takes to keep me tied to
one man. That is not something I’m entertaining

right now.

The seat next to me dips as Joshua joins us,

placing another round of beers on the table before
slinging his arm over the back of my seat. He nods
to the bar where Levi is still looking over here.
“You’re distracting my bartender again,” he teases.

“What can I say? I’m appealing.” I shrug,

rolling my shoulders to ease the tension building
there. It’s not Levi I want. I need to get this kid out
of my fucking system.

“So I wanted to talk to you about something,”

Joshua announces, leaning forward, arms coming to
rest on the table, head slightly bowed.

I raise a brow, intrigued. Ren leans in from my

other side, curiosity summoning him. “Let’s say a
female’s kink is a role-play scene…fantasy rape,”
he whispers, like anyone would frown upon that
shit in here. “What’s the protocol for that sort of
thing?”

I hold up my hand. “As long as you have

consent, it’s fine.”

“That’s not something you offer here though?”

Ren clarifies, posing it as a question. If it is, it’s not
something we know about, and considering we’re
his best friends and have been coming here since
the place opened, I think we’d know.

This is a personal question.
Swigging his drink, Joshua shakes his head.

“No, it’s not something we offer here, or something

I’m looking to introduce, but I have a client who
came to me asking about this stuff.”

“What do you want to know, Joshua?”
“If a role-play happened as realistically as

possible, can it backfire on the aggressor?”

“Get a contract in place, iron-clad—and don’t

do anything that’s not consented in the contract,” I
warn him.

“So, who is it?” Ren grins, leaning more

forward, like a fucking teenage girl desperate for
gossip.

“Fuck off.” Joshua smirks back at him. “You

know I keep everything confidential.”

“That’s why we play here,” I say, clinking his

bottle with the one he brought over for me.

“Who are you going to recommend for her?”

Ren pushes, knowing full well Joshua wouldn’t
outsource something this delicate. He’s always
been focused on providing a safe place for people
to live out their fantasies and fetishes. Safety is a
high priority for him, and role-play is where he gets
his kicks.

“For fuck’s sake, this guy is paranoid,” Ren

scoffs, getting distracted by something on his
phone.

The interruption gives Joshua a reprieve. “You

wanting your room tonight?” he asks, but Ren is
getting agitated as fuck with whoever the hell is
texting him and my interest is piqued, so I just

shake my head no.

“What’s going on, Ren?” I ask, picking at the

label on the bottle.

Putting his phone down, he notices something

across the bar and his entire demeanor changes. A
smile that reaches his eyes lights up his face, and
then he’s standing.

“Xavi is having a meltdown or some shit. You

may need to go sort his ass out. As for me, my
woman just arrived. I have a night of depravity
planned for her.” He winks, abandoning me with
yet another rescue mission.

Time to text the boy…

Pulling up at the address Xavi gave me, I find him
on the curb playing with a lighter.

He looks beautiful under the hue of the moon.
Haunted.
Lost.
A shadow wanting to surrender to the night.
Getting out of the truck, I walk over to him,

kicking the tip of his boot. It’s then I see the burns
on his hand. “Get the fuck up. We need to get that
looked at before it gets infected.”

Sighing, he looks up at me, narrowing those

troubled brown eyes. “It’ll be fine, and you’re not

my fucking dad,” he snaps, stumbling as he tries to
stand.

“You’re drunk, so I’ll let that slide. But I

warned you about this shit before I got here, so
don’t try my patience, boy.”

“I’m not drunk. I’m pissed off. Some prick

cornered me in the bathroom.” He sounds truly
distressed.

My back straightens. My fists curl. “Did he

fucking hurt you?”

Maybe there was more to this incident.
“What? No, he tried to kiss me,” he grinds out,

waltzing toward an alleyway, kicking an empty beer
bottle.

I follow, making him jerk in response to my

closeness.

“Why does that get you so rattled?” I ask, my

tone sincere, seemingly penetrating his armor.

He turns to face me, toe to toe. When he talks,

I can taste his breath. We’re so close, it makes me
want to inhale him.

“Because he’s gay, and he thought I was too.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I scoff.
“I’m not gay!” he growls, poking his finger into

my chest with brass balls.

I grab his jaw and back him up against the brick

wall. His pupils dilate. His breath quickens. His
pink tongue swipes out to wet his lips. I lean in,
pressing my hand more firmly against his jaw,

relishing the moment he stiffens, but doesn’t
fucking fight it. His hands are by his sides, free to
push me away or hit me. There’s a flush to his
cheeks, and I know if I rested my palm to his chest,
I’d feel the rushing of his blood and pounding of his
heart.

I see through his façade. I could give him what

he secretly craves right now, in this alley. Take
everything from him.

“Maybe you gave him the impression you

wanted to be kissed,” I tell him.

“I do…I didn’t…I mean, I didn’t.” His chest

rises and falls as his eyes roam my face, dipping to
my lips unabashedly.

Does he know how obvious his need is?
“And now? What if I were to kiss you? Would

you want it? Or would you want to fight me? Would
you fight me?”

“No.”
“No to which question?” I lean in slightly so he

can feel my stiff cock against his and inhale his
scent, making him shiver. “No you wouldn’t want
it, or no you wouldn’t fight it?”

It’s wicked to tease his desire this way, but

fuck, he makes me feel shit I shouldn’t be feeling. I
want to wreck him. Dismantle all this self-hate and
pain and show him it’s okay to be who he is. Feel
what he feels. I want to draw out his pleasure by
creating his pain in a way that will enlighten him,

free him. Give him the pain he needs to help him
heal from whatever it is that fucked his head up so
bad.

“Well?”
Gulping, he asks on a shaky breath, “Are you

going to kiss me?”

Fuck, I want to so bad. Instead, I rub his bottom

lip with the pad of my thumb and whisper in his ear,
“You’re not ready for me yet, boy. But soon.”

With that, I pull away and go to my truck. It

takes two minutes before the passenger door opens
and he slips inside.

“Where are you taking me?”
“My place.”

Flicking the light on and chucking the keys on the
counter, I point to the couch. “Sit.”

He doesn’t argue. He looks like a wounded

animal, tail between his legs as he slinks out of his
leather jacket and collapses onto the seat. I grab the
first aid kit and sit opposite him on the coffee table,
thankful it’s solid wood and can handle my weight.

“You know this is fucked up, right?” I admonish

with a raised a brow, grabbing his wrist to inspect
his wounds. It’s just superficial and will heal.

Tipping alcohol over the sores carelessly to grab

his attention makes him gasp and moan in pain. I
keep eye contact with him as I do it again. This
time, he exhales a shaky breath, his eyes hooded as
he watches me.

“You like pain?” It’s a question, but stated.
“I like to feel,” he replies.
“You need an outlet for all the shit you keep

bottled up inside, but burning to this degree isn’t
healthy,” I tell him, applying cream and wrapping
his hand and wrist. “There are other ways.” Our
eyes hold each other, communicating without
words. The intensity is palpable in the air
thickening around us. The room has a pulse. It’s
loud and undeniable.

Thud, thud, thud.
He’s not going to self-destruct. I won’t allow

him to implode. He’s going to enter my world. It’s
going to be a rough, a wild game of survival—of
healing—of learning. I’m going to give him a
fucking awakening. Change him forever…

If he makes it through it.
“What

are

thinking

about?”

asks,

desperately aching. The need in his voice nearly
undoes me.

“I’m thinking Ronan is going to give you some

time off and I’m going to take you somewhere for a
little while.”

I wait for him to pull back, to allow his mask to

slip back into place, but it doesn’t. Xavi is a lost

boy who needs me to find him. He simply nods his
confirmation. He fucking agrees and my lungs
release the air I was holding. I want to strip him
bare, right here and now, and show him all the ways
I can make him feel better—show him he doesn’t
have to be afraid of who he is. No one has ever
gotten under my skin quite like he does. I’m not
sure if it’s a weakness or a gift. But I need to get
out of this room before I lose all self-control and
push him too far and too quick.

“You can crash here,” I tell him. “On the

couch.”

Marching from the room, I slam into my

bedroom, the door banging off the wall. Ripping off
my clothes, I go straight to the shower.

The spray is cool, but does nothing to soothe

the fire raging inside me.

Resting a palm on the tile wall, I grip my hard,

throbbing cock, tugging roughly. Flashes of Xa’s
tongue licking over his fat fucking lips makes the
veins pulse and the mushroom tip bulge in anger.
The ache is torturous—a beautiful fucking torture.
Knowing he’s in the other room is a sick kind of
agony. I want nothing more than to go in there,
force him to his knees, and ram my fat cock into
that lush fucking mouth of his. I want him to choke
on my length, stretch his lips with the girth, grab a
handful of that sexy hair and wring my release into
him, making him swallow every drop. Instead, I tug

and pull my cock with intense ferocity, milking
myself for him. I catch a glimpse of his silhouette in
my peripheral, but he’s gone by the time my head
turns.

Ronan said he owed me, and I’m cashing in that

check. I need to get away, just us two. Find out
what’s behind all his inner turmoil and see what the
hell this thing is between us—because there’s no
fucking denying it. No matter how much he wants
to tell himself he’s not gay, he’s got a hard-on for
me and my cock, and I want to explore every inch
of him with it.

Wrapping a towel around my waist, I poke my

head into the living room and find him lying on the
couch in only his jeans, the button open, and the tip
of his hard cock on display, begging to be touched,
licked, sucked, fucked.

Soon, boy. Soon, I’ll have it all, and you’ll take

it all. Everything I fucking give you—until I push
all your limits. We’re going exploring. I’m the
hunter, and you’re the hunted who has nowhere left
to hide.

y heart is nearly beating out of my chest. It

makes me wonder what the fuck I took from the
bartender. The gay bartender who thought I was
gay.

I’m not.
So why the fuck did I follow Blaine into his

bedroom like a lovesick puppy? What was I
thinking? That he was waiting for me to come to
my senses so we could have sex?

A tiny thrill shoots down my spine at the image

running inside my head. Naked. Sweaty. Blaine
pressed against me, his mouth fused to mine. My
dick is aching and hard as a rock, desperately trying
to escape the confines of my jeans.

When I made it to his room, he was already in

the shower. I once again misread the situation. He
wasn’t waiting on me. No, Blaine was taking care
of things himself. I was too much of a chicken shit

to stay and watch, though I wanted to. Even with
the steam from the shower, I could see the curves
of his broad shoulders and tapered waist. Thick,
muscular thighs. Masculine as can be. And there he
was, one hand pressed to the wall as he expertly
jerked at his dick.

I squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring the need to

touch myself.

Hard. So fucking hard.
I don’t understand what’s going through my

head lately. With Devon, I was pissed and hated
that he assumed I was gay. But with Blaine? I sort
of hope he thinks I am so he’ll make the first move
—unbutton the rest of my jeans and take me into
his hand.

My eyes pop open, and I listen in the dark. His

bed creaks as he shifts, getting comfortable. The
urge to get up and walk in there is maddening.

Then what?
Crawl into bed beside him and beg him to force

the things on me I secretly crave?

I don’t crave shit. That’s the drugs.
I think. I fucking hope.
When the urge is too intense, I take matters into

my own hand. I undo the remaining buttons on my
jeans. Cool air kisses my hot, throbbing cock, and a
bead of pre-cum dots the tip.

This is fucked up.
I’m in some cop’s house about to jerk off to

thoughts of him.

Under normal circumstances, this sounds like

exactly the kind of shit that gets you arrested. But
right now? I think I’m safe from that. Safe from the
prying eyes of the world. Safe from the judgmental
stares and words of people who don’t understand
just what the fuck is screwing with my head.

Blaine seems to see something inside me I can’t

see myself. And rather than exploiting it, it’s as
though he has a plan. I just wish I was in on said
plan.

My hand wraps around my cock, making me

hiss in pleasure. In the dark, with Blaine’s
masculine and powerful scent permeating every
inch of his home, it’s easy to pretend it’s his hand.
But his hand is bigger and stronger. I bet he’d jerk
me hard. I yank to the point of pain, squeezing my
eyes shut as I chase this fantasy of him.

Harder. Harder. Harder.
I’m breathing heavily, groaning quietly as my

body tingles with pleasure. The need to come is
overwhelming. I crave more than my hand, but it’s
all I have. No filthy fan girl to sink my dick into…

My dick softens slightly.
Jesus!
Blaine. Blaine. Blaine.
His growly voice. His dark, penetrating stare.

His full pink lips that look like they would feel good
pressed against mine. His thick cock rubbing

against mine as he pins me to the wall.

Fuck!
A spurt of hot cum shoots out of me, splattering

my chest. The room spins, dizzying me. Heat rushes
through my veins like I’ve taken a hit of something
super addictive—something that’ll get me killed
like Lex.

Goddammit, what the hell am I doing?
I peek my eyes open to inspect the mess I

made. My lean, tattooed chest glistens in the
moonlight. The tip of my cock still drips from my
release. I’m still aroused and eager for more,
despite the fact that I just whacked off like some
confused freak in a cop’s living room.

If we were together, would he lick the cum right

off my chest?

Would he gather it with his thumb and shove it

into my mouth, forcing me to taste myself?

When my dick twitches, impatient to yield to

his demands, I let out a heavy sigh.

Fuck this.
Fuck Blaine.
And fuck my stupid dick.

Shame is a powerful emotion. For me, it’s a muse
killer and a mood destroyer. It also makes me

paranoid as fuck. Ever since last night at Blaine’s,
I’ve been spinning.

I cleaned up my “mess” and snuck out of the

cop’s house like some sort of bad ass teenager
getting away from his overbearing dad. But in my
case, I was escaping my overwhelming desire to be
with the cop. Whether the feeling is mutual or not
is beside the point.

I don’t want him.
I don’t want any man.
Thank fuck I can always count on the band to

remind me how to be a man. I’d woken up really
fucking late this afternoon in Seth’s guest bed. I
don’t know how the hell I got here, though my text
messages leave a trail of me begging him to come
get me. Now, a party is in full force downstairs.
Loud as shit too.

After a quick shower where I forbade myself to

think about Blaine’s shower, I dress in some black,
holey jeans I find in Seth’s closet, one of his tight-
ass white shirts, and pull back on my boots. He’s
such a girl, so his bathroom is stocked full of hair
styling shit. Once I do a style that has my dark,
overgrown hair looking messy but hot as fuck, I
steal an unused toothbrush and take care of the
taste in my mouth that reminds me of bad decisions
from the night before.

As soon as I head downstairs, I can hear a

familiar guitar riff. Owen’s showing off—alone,

from the sound of it. I saunter down the stairs and
scan the growing crowd. Several scantily dressed
women let out squeals when they see me. I’m not
an asshole, so I nod and flash them a killer smile
before finding Owen.

He’s sitting on the hearth of the fireplace,

shirtless, a Gibson Dove acoustic in his lap and a
cigarette dangling from his lips as he plays
something familiar. It’s not wise to try new songs
with guests, so we tend to stick with what they
already know. We learned that the hard way when
we had an impromptu jam session one time during a
party. That YouTube video still gets more “free”
hits than anything we’ve ever produced in a studio
or played onstage.

I walk over to him and fuck with his hair as he

strums away on “Heartache from Below,” the first
power ballad we ever did.

“And then his hot best friend walks in and asks

where the fucking pizza is,” I croon in my voice
that makes girls lose their panties in a flash. It’s not
the words to the song, but if you didn’t know any
better, you’d fall for it.

He laughs and kicks his foot out at me. I grin at

him before heading into the kitchen to see what I
can scrounge up. Once in Seth’s massive kitchen, I
find a girl sitting on the counter looking like a
fucking treat.

Tiny as hell.

Long brown hair.
Fat red lips.
Her tits are spilling out of her dress, and the

hem barely covers her cunt. She has short legs, but
they’re nice and shapely. They’d look great
wrapped around me. As she types away on her
phone, the glow illuminating her face, I lean against
the fridge and watch her.

She’s exactly what I need.
A fucking distraction.
A reminder that whatever confusing shit has

been going on, is just that: confusing. I like what I
see with this girl. She’s my type.

My phone buzzes, and I pull it out, ignoring the

missed calls from Blaine I received this morning.
Flipping over to Twitter, I look to see what I’m
missing out on. Lots of Owen shit—pictures of his
shirtless body strumming his guitar from moments
before. Even one of me messing with his hair. Fuck,
these people are quick. The picture of the two of us
already has over forty thousand likes. I snap a
picture of the girl, a close up of just her mouth, and
type: “Where can a guy find a pretty mouth like
this to kiss?”

As soon as I submit the tweet, I watch the girl.

She stares intently at the screen. Then she frowns,
pulling the phone closer. When she determines it’s
her, her mouth parts as she mouths “Oh my God.”
Her blue eyes lift to mine.

“There’s one,” I say, like I just found the

answer to my question, as I pocket my phone.
“Question is, does that pretty mouth want to be
kissed?”

I saunter over to her and grip both her knees,

pulling her thighs apart so I can stand between
them. With how short her dress is, she’s probably
flashing anyone in the near vicinity. I slide my hand
into her hair and kiss her hard. My lips and tongue
dominate hers, and she rewards me with sweet
mewls.

My stomach grumbles, making her giggle.
It’s enough to pull me out of the moment and

remind me why I haven’t eaten. I fucked up and
texted Blaine to come save me last night. As a
result, I slept all day trying to forget that horrible
mistake.

“Come on,” I growl, pulling her into my arms.
Her laughter spurs me on as I carry her through

the house, past the curious onlookers, and upstairs.
Once inside the guest room, I shut the door and toss
her on the bed. Under her dress, I get a flash of a
black thong.

“Lay back,” I command. “Take off your panties

and show me what I get to fuck.”

She bites on her plump bottom lip and shimmies

out of her thong. It gets flung at me, and then she
opens her legs like a practiced whore, baring her
pink pussy lips at me. This shit used to get me riled

up. I can fuck for hours. I’m relentless.

So why in the ever-loving hell am I having to

rub at my cock through my jeans, attempting to get
it hard?

“Touch yourself,” I order, buying some time.

“How wet are you?”

She pushes a finger into her pussy and pulls it

out. It glistens in the light. Like it’s a lollipop, she
sucks her finger into her mouth, making an over-
the-top show of enjoying her taste.

My dick doesn’t even twitch.
Not now.
Fuck.
She sits up on her knees and peels off her dress,

baring her tits to me. Huge and barely staying inside
her black bra. On her knees, she walks over to the
edge of the bed.

“I see you looking at these,” she says breathily

as she squeezes her tits. “Want to fuck them?”

The idea of pressing her tits together as I fuck

the cleavage is something that would normally be a
no brainer.

And yet…
I need a drink or ten. I’m too sober.
Before I can state that, she’s undoing my loose,

borrowed jeans. They fall to my ankles
unceremoniously, showing off my flaccid dick. Her
look of surprise is enough to have me panicking—
and panic does nothing to help the state of my dick.

A thousand thoughts wash through my head about
what she’s thinking. It’s irrational, but I can’t stop
the paranoia eating away at me.

“I need a drink,” I rasp as I start to reach for

my jeans.

“Here,” she purrs, reaching for my soft cock.

“Let me suck it to life.”

Oh, Jesus. This is bad.
Her tongue flicks out and tastes my tip as she

works my flimsy cock in her tiny hand. The more I
stare in shock at my useless dick, the more terror
rises up inside me. My eyes slide to her phone on
the bed.

My inability to get hard could be a media

fucking sensation the moment she lets go.

No. No. No.
Fucking no.
“Everything okay? I’ve been told I’m great at

giving head.”

“Yeah, I just need a minute. I just woke up.” I

laugh nervously.

“We can bring your friend up if you prefer?

Your band mate? Owen, maybe?”

What the fuck does she mean by that? Fuck,

now my dick is twitching.

“Oh…” she croons. “I think your dick likes that

idea”

Fuck.
“I…uh…stop, lady.”

She pouts and looks up at me in confusion.

“Cassidy.”

“Right…um, Cassidy. Can we take a breather

for a second? I’m not feeling so hot.”

“Sure,” she says. “I’ll just look at my phone

until you’re ready—”

“No!” I bark out, making her jump. “I mean…

uh, please. I need to talk to my label. It’s important.
Can you just stay here looking so fucking pretty?”

My words make her melt.
“Lie back and make yourself feel good,” I urge.
While she falls back and touches herself, I

knock her phone onto the floor, yank up my jeans,
and dial Ren. She’s focused on getting off, so I snag
up her phone and pocket it while I wait for him to
answer.

No answer.
Fuck.
Reluctantly, I call Ronan. I hate having to talk

to him, but desperate times call for desperate
measures. I cannot have this shit getting out. This
could be catastrophic to my reputation.

“Xavi Jacobs,” he says in way of greeting.

Cool, guarded, slightly pissed off.

“Ronan,” I whisper, ducking into the adjoining

bathroom. “I’m totally fucked.”

“What now?” he growls.
My heart races. “I…uh, there was this girl

and…” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Say what you have to say, man. Unless she’s

not breathing. In that case, don’t say anything
else,” he says impatiently. “Out with it.”

“I can’t get hard.”
The line goes quiet.
“Are you asking me for sex advice?”
I let out a rush of air. “Fuck no. She’s saying

shit about me needing Owen or one of the guys in
the room to get hard. I’m afraid she’s going to tell
the whole fucking world. Help me. Please.”

“I see. You’re at Seth’s from the looks of it. I’ll

be there in fifteen with an NDA.”

Though I called him for help, I didn’t expect

him to be so accommodating. “Really?”

“Really. Don’t say a word or do anything stupid

until we talk. And, Xavi, is there anything I need to
know about you and Owen?”

“What the fuck? No, of course not.”
“Okay.”
He hangs up, and I slink back into the bedroom

as Cassidy cries out my name. She shudders on the
bed. When the aftershocks subside, she grins lazily
at me.

“Beautiful,” I praise. “So beautiful, it makes me

want to write a song.”

Her blue eyes widen. “No way!”
“Get dressed and I’ll play some shit for you,” I

say, shrugging one shoulder.

Eagerly, Cassidy throws on her clothes, then

looks around for her phone.

“Private show,” I say with a smile. “It’s only

fair since you gave me one.” I give her a wink that
has her sighing happily.

Luckily, since I stay here sometimes, Seth

keeps an acoustic for me. It’s not as nice as the one
Owen’s playing downstairs, but it’ll do the trick. I
sit on the edge of the bed and make up some chords
to stall until Ronan gets here. I could probably sing
about the neighbor’s dog shitting on the grass and
this girl would be into it based on the way she tries
to sing along and sways.

Fifteen minutes on the dot, Ronan pushes into

the room with a concerned Owen at his side. When
Owen sees my panicked face, his eyes dart to
Cassidy.

“Oh,” Cassidy says, “are we, like, going to

have an orgy? I’m into it, I just wasn’t expecting
it.”

Ronan flashes her a boardroom shark smile as

he pulls out a folded piece of paper from his
pocket. I normally hate his stiff suit attire, but right
now, he looks powerful and intimidating—which is
exactly what I need from him.

“Sorry, Ms…” he trails off.
“Cassidy Holder.”
Ronan pulls out a pen from his pocket and leans

the paper against the wall as he scribbles something
out. “This, Cassidy Holder, is a nondisclosure

agreement. It’s a simple document that says you are
not to tell anything about what happens inside Mr.
Jacobs’ bedroom. Conversations, sexual activities,
songs. Whatever happens is to be kept under lock
and key. Are we clear?”

Her face turns red. “What’s going to happen?”
Owen shoots me a confused look.
“Nothing is going to happen,” Ronan assures

her. “Because you’re going to sign this and rejoin
the party.”

“But why?” she asks, her bottom lip wobbling.

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, shooting her a firm look.
“Some people like to exploit famous people,”

Ronan says bluntly. “But not you, Ms. Holder.”

“Never,” she breathes, shaking her head.
“Then you’ll be fine signing.” He hands her the

pen and paper. “Go on, read it. It’s very clear and
concise.”

She takes her time reading the document, then

looks up at him. “I’ll be sued if I mention
anything?” Her blue eyes flicker to mine, hurt
shining in them. I feel like a fucking dick, but I
don’t want this shit out there.

“I see you understand the agreement,” Ronan

says.

“I guess I don’t have a choice,” she grumbles,

scribbling her name on the line.

“You have a choice to forget this evening and

enjoy the party,” Ronan replies in a no-nonsense
tone. “That simple.”

She nods and gives me a sad look. “I still don’t

know what I did wrong.”

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Owen says, smiling.

“Why don’t we go back downstairs and I’ll play a
song for you? Your choice.”

Her eyes light up. “Okay, that sounds

awesome.” She glances at me. “I just need my
phone.”

Ronan lifts a brow, silently asking if it’s okay. I

give him a clipped nod before handing it to her.

My mouth opens to apologize, but he shakes his

head at me. Owen grabs her hand and leads her out
of the room. The moment the door closes behind
them, I let out a sigh of relief.

“Come here,” he orders, his voice dripping with

authority like Blaine’s.

Heat of embarrassment or shame prickles

across my skin, making me aware that I’m in the
room with Blaine’s best friend.

“What?” I ask, my voice husky.
“Blaine told me about last night.”
My face flames, and I scowl. “I don’t know

what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Ronan approaches, his face inches from mine

as he inspects me with that calculating glint in his
eyes. “The part where he rescued you from
yourself.”

“And what else?”
His lips quirk up on one side. “There was more?

He certainly didn’t tell me anything else. Blaine has
certain kinks, though. So there’s always more with
him. Don’t worry,” he assures me. “You don’t need
an NDA with him. He’s a fucking vault with his
boys.”

His boys?
My dick—the traitorous motherfucker—wakes

up, hard and eager to be a good boy for Blaine. I’ve
never wanted to be fucking good. What the fuck?

“I am not with Blaine,” I croak out, hating how

vulnerable my voice sounds.

“Oh, I know,” Ronan says. “You haven’t been

broken in yet. Still acting out and misbehaving. If
you were with Blaine, he’d sort your shit out real
quick.”

I want to demand he tell me how.
How will Blaine straighten me out?
Why do I want him to?
“I…I…” I trail off, grasping for an explanation.
Ronan smiles. “You need a vacation, like he

says. Come on. I’ll drop you by your house so you
can pack a bag. Blaine’s coming for you. I’ve been
instructed to get you ready.”

My head spins. “W-What? I have shit to do.

You know this. I can’t go on a vacation!” Not with
fucking Blaine, of all people.

“I’ll have Eve rearrange your schedule. Don’t

fight me on this. You won’t win.”

Evil bastard’s trying to control my goddamn

life.

His features soften, and he grips my shoulder.

“I’m on your side, Xavi. I wish you’d get that
through your thick skull.”

I blink at him in confusion. We’ve done nothing

but fight since I signed with him. I hate how much
control I gave him. Creatively, schedule wise,
monetarily. He’d done what he did with Cassidy
and waved a contract at us. We’d been star-struck
and eager. But, as time passed, I realized I wanted
more wiggle room, to which he firmly told me no
each time.

“I want to write some tracks to the next album.

I don’t want your songwriter going in and changing
shit like our last album,” I blurt out.

His brows furrow. “If you show me you can

grow up, Xavi, I’ll give you more freedom. Like
any good adult role model in your life, I do things
to protect you and keep the pressure off you as
much as I can. Take the vacation and come back to
me with something I can use. Leave the drugs and
alcohol to a minimum, and maybe I’ll consider
renegotiating your contract.”

I gape at him in shock. “Really?” Of all the

times we’ve fought at his office over this shit…

“Give me something to work with,” he says.

“Now, let’s get you off to Blaine.”

Oh, fuck.
What did I just agree to?
I think I just sold my soul to the devil…and it’s

not the three-piece Armani suit wearing fucker in
front of me.

The devil is a hard-bodied cop who doesn’t

take well to bullshit.

And now I’m going on fucking vacation with

him.

Good one, Xavi. Good fucking move.

ulling down the gravel road off the beaten track

toward the cabin my old man left me, I already feel
ten tons lighter.

I love the city, but the shit I see with my job can

leave a mark on the soul. It’s good to cleanse it
every once in a while. It’s therapeutic being in the
wilderness.

Xavi groans in his sleep, his brow furrowed

from troubled dreams. I reach across the seat to rest
a hand on his chest when he begins jerking a little,
the visions taking hold, keeping him enslaved.

He stills beneath my touch, the lines ironing out

across his forehead.

His serene innocence is now displayed on his

sleeping form.

He’s fucking beautiful to look at. Pale skin, a

contrast to his dark, untamed hair curling around
his ears, and a straight nose leading to full lips that

look firm and soft all at once.

My body aches to lean in and taste them.
In a crowded room, he can compel a sea of

people with just his presence, but to be alone with
him is something else entirely. When stripped of his
attitude and cocksure ego, there is something
vulnerable and almost delicate about him—and
intensely alluring.

I raise my hand to stroke his cheek, my

knuckles grazing the soft skin, causing him to stir in
his sleep and become stiff beneath my touch.

His hand reaches up to grasp mine. Strong, long

fingers wrapping around my fist. “What are you
doing?” he asks gruffly.

Pulling my hand from his, I nod to the cabin.

“We’re here.”

Sitting up and shifting in his seat, his brows

raise and his mouth opens. “Wow, it’s…”

“What?”
“Nice, big.” His lips hook up briefly in a

crooked grin.

“Did you think it was going to be a shack where

we had to share a cot to keep warm?” I ask with a
snort.

He answers my question by turning his head

toward his window.

Shit, he did think that. “My grandpa built this

place with his own two hands. It’s been in my
family for a long time. My father passed it down to

me. I like to come here to decompress,” I tell him.

“And bring assholes here who need reigning

in?” he remarks, rubbing his palms down his jeans
anxiously.

“I’ve never brought anyone here.” I grimace.

The news seems to surprise us both.

I pull up and turn the engine off, but don’t

move to get out. “I don’t want you to feel like this
was forced on you, or that you’re a prisoner here.
You have to want to be here. Do you understand
what I’m saying? I want to help you.”

The truck falls deathly silent. My heart begins

to pound while he takes his time deciding if he’s
ready for this.

For me.
If he wants to go back, I’ll take him, but it will

be hard ridding myself of the desire I have for this
damn boy.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel to stop

myself from grabbing him and barking, “Tell me
your ready, boy, because here I fucking come.”

“I want to be here,” he finally says in a soft

tone.

Opening the door, I jump out and feel an

overwhelming need to smile. He’s ready.

I’m ready. I’ve got a damn fever burning up

inside me for this boy, and he should run because
I’m going to break him to remake him. But running
now won’t do him any good. I’m on fire, and he’s

not just in my path, he’s my destination.

Following me inside, he takes in the place with

wide eyes and childlike awe. It’s an open space
including a game area with a pool table and bar,
and a huge sitting area with a widescreen TV
mounted above the fireplace. My favorite aspect,
apart from the obvious choice, is the kitchen. It’s
huge with a breakfast bar doubling as an island
right in the center. There’s something intimate and
erotic about cooking for someone else—especially
if it’s because you’re both starving from fucking the
energy out of each other all day and night.

“You want a tour?” I ask, moving toward the

wooden staircase at the back of the cabin.

Shrugging out of his jacket, he runs his fingers

through his hair before shoving them in his jeans
pockets and nodding. “Sure.”

I can sense his nervous energy. It riles up the

beast inside.

Gesturing to the first door when we reach the

top, I say, “Towels and spare linens.” Without
losing pace, I open the door and step inside.
“Master room.”

I watch as his eyes take in the space, widening

as he scans the sexual pleasure apparatus placed
beside the king-sized bed in the middle of the room.
I had it set up for pleasure, but never found anyone
I wanted to bring here. Until now.

“Is that a shower?” he asks, making me grin. Of

all the things to ask about…

“It is.”
The entire back wall is a glass-sliding panel

leading to a shower the full width of the room. I
follow him as he surveys the outer wall also being
made from glass looking out into the surrounding
forest. I had it installed last summer. Something
about seeing and being seen makes my cock throb.
“You want to try it out?” I tease.

“So you can watch? Perv,” he scoffs.
“Scared it will make you gay?” I mock,

chuckling when he narrows his eyes on me.

“Fuck you,” he spits, an ugly, defensive

demeanor taking over.

Maybe it’s because we’re here in my space, or

perhaps it’s the fact that I’m done with his fucking
mouth being used to abuse instead of amuse me,
but my hand snaps out, backhanding him across the
cheek, my knuckle catching his lip. He rocks
backward, falling against the wall and gasping in
shock.

“You fucking hit me!”
I close in on him, drowning him in my height

and weight. Grasping his jaw between my thumb
and forefinger, I tip his gaze up to mine. “I’ve let
that line pass your lips one too many times, and you
seem to think it’s acceptable to say it but not do it,”
I growl, leaning down to lick at the spot of blood
blooming on his bottom lip.

He flinches at first, then relaxes beneath me. I

take it a step further, finally giving in to the need to
feel his lips on mine. I nip his fat, pouty lip while
keeping eye contact.

An exhale shivers past his lips. I’m not sure if

it’s panic or excitement, but I take it as the latter
and swipe my tongue against the seal of his mouth,
testing him. When it parts, I plow inside to caress
his tongue. Peppermint and cigarettes attack my
taste buds. Warm, wet flicks of his tongue drive me
fucking crazy.

Come out of your shell, little boy. See what’s

out here. Show me you’re a man.

The kiss is slow, exploring, as he traces the

recesses of my mouth.

I offer persuasive encouragement, groaning

with pleasure, dancing my tongue against his. It
soon becomes hungry, our mouths dueling,
caressing with urgency, ravishing each other. I pull
back, breathless and ready to fuck him raw. His
eyes are expressive and shine bright with lust. The
furrow of his brow tells me he’s fighting with
himself, wanting this, but scared to admit it to
himself.

Keeping myself from being reckless with him, I

trace the outline of his mouth with my fingertip.
“Why are you so afraid to feel what you do?” I
implore, desperate for all his secrets, his words,
truths, confessions.

“I don’t know how to turn it off.”
“Turn what off?”
His bottom lip quivers, emotion consuming him.

I grasp his face, stroking the pads of my thumbs
over his cheeks, my eyes begging him to open up to
me.

“The pain, fear, truth of what I think I may be,”

he rushes out.

It’s painful to see him so troubled. Being this

invested is new to me, and it’s dangerous because
I’m going to love it even more when he finally
accepts what he’s feeling—when I get to be inside
him, mind, body and fucking soul. He’s got me all
caught up in him, snared by his achingly defined
beauty and tortured soul—the desperate need he
has to be rescued. That’s what I fucking do.

He was meant for me.
And here I am, boy.
“You can be free here. It’s just you and me.” I

touch my lips to his before pulling away. “Take a
shower. It was a long drive,” I urge him, leaving the
room so he can regain his composure.

I retrieve our bags from the truck, grab wood

from a stack I left here last time to start a fire, and
load the kitchen with the groceries before I even
hear the shower blast from above. I snag our
suitcases and head upstairs, dropping his in one of
the spare rooms. He’s going to want space.

Going into my room, I find a pile of his

discarded clothes left at the shower entrance.

The spray hums, pitter-pattering against the

glass wall, steam distorting the top of the glass, but
not hiding his form from me. I see him fully
beneath the spray.

His stance emphasizes the lean muscle of his

thighs and ass, tapering off to a slim waist and
structured back. His head is bowed as if in worship.

Worship me, boy.
Creamy, flawless skin beckons me to blemish it.
Soon.
His physique is athletic and undeniably fucking

delicious. I want to devour every inch of him until
he’s a quaking mess of sweat and cum.

Swiping the water from his face, he turns

toward the glass, our gaze’s clashing. He freezes,
fists tightening beside him, jaw ticking, dick
stiffening to a salute. I stride over to the divide
between us and rest my palms on the see-through
barrier. Licking my lips, I groan, my mouth filling
with saliva. “Touch your cock for me, boy. Show
me how you punish yourself for feeling shit you
think you shouldn’t,” I tell him.

He falters, his shoulders collapsing and eyes

closing, but the steady rise and fall of his chest
betrays him. He’s so fucking turned on, his dick
looks harder than granite.

The veiny, thick length must be a good eight

inches and pulsing with an ache I know too well.

The tip is glistening like a juicy fucking treat
begging to be engulfed by my throat.

The prolonged anticipation nearly has me

smashing the glass and taking his ass roughly
against the outer wall. But then his eyes open,
flaring with a newfound light. Confidence and
sureness he hasn’t displayed up until this point.

He grasps his cock firmly in his palm and

strokes, slow and tortuous. “Are you just going to
watch?” he asks, muffled by the sound of pouring
water behind him.

“It’s only fair,” I say with a smirk. “You’ve

seen me. Now, it’s my turn.”

Reaching out, he pins his hand where mine lay

on the other side of the divider. Our eyes meet, and
we stare at each other as he tugs and pulls on his
dick, his thumb caressing the tip, rubbing in the
juices leaking there. My cock strains against the
zipper of my jeans, screaming at me to take it out
and mimic the boy’s movements.

His fingers stroke and dance over his cock,

working himself like he’s making a dark, edgy,
euphoric riff.

His lips part as he pants and moans. Quickening

his pace, he cocoons the girth in his fist, jerking
with ferocity, up and down, squeezing, rubbing,
embracing. His face contorts almost in agony. His
moans bounce around the shower as white ribbons
of cum spurt against the window, his bulging

mushroom head pulsating his release all for me.

I want to lick the salty seed and fuck his face

with his load all over my tongue.

He sucks at the air to fill his spent lungs, his

dick softening but not going completely flaccid,
then releases his dick like it’s on fire. Stepping into
the spray, he turns his back to me, shame coating
him more than the water.

I’m going fucking burst a vein if I don’t take

care of my own raging hard cock, but he needs to
know what he just did is okay.

He’s fucking safe with me.
I strip out of my clothes and slide open the

door, stepping inside. The water dampens my skin
in its warmth, doing nothing to cool my heated
flesh.

“What are you doing?” he balks, fear

glimmering in his eyes.

“Taking a shower,” I reply, ignoring him and

going about washing myself, trying not to relieve
the ache down below.

“Do people know about you?” he asks after a

moment of nothing but the splashing of water.

“Know what?” I turn to face him.
His eyes dance over my body, lowering to my

cock and back up to my eyes. “That you’re into
guys?”

“If you’re asking if I hide who I am, the answer

is no. I am who I am. I’m not ashamed of my sexual

preference. It doesn’t define me in any other aspect
of my life. It’s not a choice I made. It’s not
something we can control. It’s a part of who we
are, not all we are.”

“So, who are you?” he asks with a sense of

urgency.

I ponder his question for a moment. “I’m a

detective,

good

friend,

loving

son.

compassionate, loyal, happy, and slightly depraved,
gay man.” I take a step closer. “Who are you?”

“I don’t know,” he chokes, his eyes holding

mine, sending my heart pounding. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” I ask, gruffness making my

voice sound like a growl.

He swallows, and I watch the movement of his

throat. “Being with a man?”

The water showers down around him, providing

him a sense of shelter, obscurity.

“It’s freeing.” My attention darts to his full,

pink lips. “When it’s something you want, crave—
when it’s a strong desire gnawing away at you,
begging for release, relief, permission, it can be
everything.”

“I don’t want it. I fucking hate that I even think

about you,” he snarls, desperate to convince
himself more than me.

Fucker.
I step toward him and clench his balls in my

fist, making him holler and grab my arm.

“What the fuck! Let go,” he cries out, panic in

his expression.

“You let go. Fucking drop your hands now,” I

order, squeezing his balls, making his torso tense,
the lean muscle contracting.

His hands drop, and his breathing increases in

massive swallows.

“Apologize for being a little brat,” I demand.
When he doesn’t respond, I tighten my hold. I

use my other hand to grip his throat, dragging his
head toward me. “Your cock is thickening with
every passing second I hold your balls at ransom,
boy. Your lips are aching to be kissed again, and
your ass is twitching with anticipation of when I’m
going to sink my big, fat cock inside it—to the hilt.
I’ll have you coming in seconds with my hand, my
tongue, and my dick. And you won’t hate it. You’ll
fucking love it.” I tease his lips with a swipe of
mine. “Now, tell me you’re sorry and I’ll let you
touch my cock.”

The tip of his dick pokes into my thigh, his

labored breathing almost out of control.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” he blurts out.

And he is. His brows are furrowed and all
confidence is gone. He wants acceptance and
approval.

This is a reward I can give.
I kiss the tip of his nose. “Good boy. Now, wrap

your hand around my cock and play me like you

played yourself earlier. When I come, I’ll release
your balls.”

His touch is soft at first, unsure and sloppy, but

when I tighten my hold on his throat, his hand grips
my cock more firmly, stroking the length. Dark orbs
search mine, pupils dilated to pinpricks, a glaze of
yearning shimmering. The water turns cool,
saturating our fevered flesh. I want to lick all the
beaded drops from his skin.

Feeling his palm on my cock is driving me

insane. My composure is slipping. All I want to do
is hurt and fuck him.

Working my cock like it’s his own, he massages

my length, giving the tip attention until my balls
draw tight and warmth unfurls up my spine. Then
I’m fucking coming, hot, furious, and all over us
both. The creamy fluid decorates his torso and my
forearm. I groan and shudder as the remaining
wave of pleasure ripples through my cock.

Releasing my grip on his balls, but not his

throat, I swipe my finger through the cum before
the water washes it away and bring it to my lips,
tasting myself, then crashing my lips to his, forcing
my way into his waiting mouth. I ravish him, and he
fucking takes everything I have to give him. Then, I
release him.

“Thank you. Now, thank me,” I demand.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice quivering and

body shaking from the cold water now beating

down on us.

I switch off the shower and grab us each a

towel. “Get dry, then come down for some food. I
put your bag in the guest room down the hall,” I tell
him as I make my way to the closet for some fresh
clothes.

“Does that make me gay now?” he calls across

the room.

A sigh rattles my chest. “Xavi, you don’t need

to label things, especially when it makes you so on
edge. Do you want to tell me why you’re so afraid
of being gay or people thinking you are?”

No.
He’s going to hold onto that shit until I force it

out of him.

And I will.
“I want to sleep. Can I just be alone for a

while?” He frowns, rubbing his hand over the sores
on his wrist.

“Sure. I’ll keep something in the microwave for

you in case you wake up and get hungry.”

“Okay, thank you.”
I watch him leave the room, head bowed and

shoulders slumped. I don’t know whether we’ve
taken a step forward or two steps back.

Either way, he’s stuck here with me, and we’re

not leaving until we make headway.

oly shit.

What have I done?
I knew this would happen…us. At least to a

certain degree. Hell, I agreed to it. Now, though,
I’m rethinking my reasoning.

If this gets out…
The urge to check social media is more

addictive than any drug I’ve ever consumed. I
throw on some sweatpants after my shower and
hunt down my phone. When I swipe to turn it on,
I’m irritated to discover I have zero bars of service.

What. The. Hell.
We’re in butt fucking Egypt, so of course we

don’t have signal.

My hand trembles as I set the phone down on

the dresser and stare at it. What do I do? I told
Blaine I wanted to sleep, but my mind is buzzing. I
need a smoke, but I don’t think he’ll like it if I light

up in his house. I grab a pack of smokes and my
Zippo, and pocket them before throwing on a shirt.
I’m not eager to face off with him right now, so I
sneak through the modernized cabin on a trek for
the outdoors.

The heat of his stare burns into me as he cooks

in the kitchen, but I ignore it. My stomach grumbles
the moment I inhale something savory. I’m too
jittery to eat, though.

As I step outside, the chill of the evening air

nips the exposed flesh of my arms and bare feet. I
relish the sting. There’s a swing on the darkened
porch, so I plop down on it, propping my feet up on
a table in front of it. I fish out my smokes and light
the end before sucking down a drag, trying and
failing to get my body to stop shaking.

I jacked off in front of him.
And then…
Fuck. I’m so fucked.
Ignoring the stiffening of my dick at the

memory of how it felt to hold Blaine’s cock in my
grip, I take another drag. I blow out the calming air
harshly and study my Zippo in the moonlight.

If Lex were here, I’d demand he fix what’s

wrong with me. Because he saw it even when I
couldn’t. And he loved me anyway. He was
awesome like that. Not judgmental. Wise. Always
straight to the point. My throat aches with emotion.
He was too fucking young to die.

Tears prickle at my eyes, and I fucking hate it. I

hate how fragmented my mind feels all the damn
time. I just need…I need a reprieve, goddammit.

I need a reprieve from me.
“I need a reprieve from me,” I croon, my voice

husky from emotion. I like the way the words
sound. Raw and brittle. It’d make a good hook.

The crickets are chirping in a relaxing cadence

that chills my nerves a bit. I think about more lyrics
that could work while tapping my Zippo on the
wood of the swing for the beat. My mind drifts
back to Lex.

What would he think about Blaine?
He’d probably be jealous at first, then laugh

and give me shit. Me with a cop is fucking insane
enough as it is. But Lex would want me to be
happy, no matter if it was with a man or a woman. I
know this deep down. Yeah, Lex would smile, his
whole soul shining, and say, “You do you, brother.”

But I don’t even know who I am. I don’t even

know who I want to be.

Lex’s laughter echoes in my head, and I

tremble. I press my cigarette between my lips and
flip open the Zippo. The flame dances in the
darkness, enticing and alluring. I run it across my
forearm, hissing at the sting. When I can’t take the
burn any longer, I flip the lid closed and exhale the
plume of smoke. I finish my cigarette before tossing
it to the porch floor and stubbing it out with my

bare foot.

“I don’t even know who I am,” I sing, my voice

low and sad. “I don’t even know who I want to
be.” I scrub at my face, fighting the confusion
warring within me. “I need a reprieve from me.”

“New song?”
I jerk at the sound of Blaine’s deep voice.

“Maybe.”

“I like it.” He steps over to me and hands me

my acoustic. “Heard you singing and thought this
might help. Dinner is in the oven.”

“Thanks,” I mutter as I set it on the table. I

close my eyes, hoping he’ll leave me alone.

“What the hell, Xa?”
Pain lances through my arm as he grips it, his

features dark and menacing in the shadows.

“What?” I growl.
“You need to quit this shit,” he bites out,

releasing my arm. “It’s fucked up.”

“Whatever, man.”
He squats down in front of me so we’re eye to

eye. “In my house, have some respect, boy.”

I tense at the husky way he calls me “boy.”

Every time he says it, heat burns up my spine.

“I like the pain of it,” I tell him, meeting his

glare with one of my own.

“As long as you’re here, you’re not doing that

shit,” he says, nodding to my Zippo.

I ignore him until he stands and starts to walk

away.

“Why won’t you let me burn?” My words are

whispered, mostly to myself. Maybe they’re lyrics,
maybe they’re a plea.

He walks back over to me and sits down. His

fingers dig into my jaw as he turns me to look at
him. My body tingles from his touch.

“You like pain?” he asks, a challenge in his

tone.

Of course I rise to the occasion. “Yeah, you got

a problem with that?”

His lips curl into a sinister smile that makes my

stomach clench in anticipation. “I’ve got a problem
that you’re inflicting the pain yourself. That’s my
job, boy.”

“You want to hurt me?”
“Among other things.”
“Why?”
“Because I like it. And based on your need to

feel as a distraction from what’s going on inside
you, I’d say you’ll like it too.”

“Like spank me?”
At this, he laughs. The sound is rich, deep, and

vibrant. I decide right then, I really fucking love his
laugh. Reminds me of the way Lex and I would
laugh until we cried. My bandmates and I are close,
but I’ve never been as close to them as I was with
Lex. The thought of laughing without a care in the
world like so many days in my past has a trickle of

hope flickering inside me.

“Spanking is for the Christian Greys of the

world,” he says, smirking.

“Like the dude from that porn movie?”
“I know you’re not sheltered, boy. That was far

from fucking porn. Mr. Grey is refined and
structured. Contracts and bullshit.” He lifts a brow
as he drags his stare down to my split lip. “I’m
more of an animal. Feral and possessive. The need
to dominate. Control is threaded into my DNA.
Every breath, every thought, every action is fueled
by my desire to hunt my prey. It’s what drove me to
join the police force.”

“So, spanking’s out,” I say tightly.
He rubs his thumb along my jaw, making my

hairs stand on end. “I’m not limited on my ways of
punishing. If I need to whip my boy into shape and
the only thing I have available is my hand, then I’ll
use my damn hand.”

I’m not sure how I feel about getting spanked.
My dick’s semi-hard in my sweats, though.
“What are you so afraid of?” he asks, his palm

sliding down my throat. He squeezes slightly. “Tell
me—and don’t fucking lie.”

I swallow and close my eyes. “I don’t know.”
“You want to burn so goddamn badly?” he asks,

his voice a deep growl.

I snap open my eyes. “Yeah.”
“Then I’m going to let you burn.” He leans

forward and kisses my lips chastely. “But I’m going
to be the one to burn you.” His teeth tug at my
bottom lip, sending curls of pleasure dancing down
to my dick. “Not just on your arms.” He releases
my neck and drags his knuckle down the side of my
throat. “Here,” he says as he circles my nipple over
my shirt, “and here.”

My breath hitches when he teases my other

nipple. Burning my nipples sounds like fucking
torture. So why the hell am I turned on?

“And here,” he murmurs, running his knuckle

over my lower abs.

I nearly stop breathing as I anticipate him going

lower, but instead, he runs his knuckle over my
inner thigh.

“Maybe here too. I haven’t decided.” He

sounds amused. “I’m going to make you cry.”

I scoff. “Fucking right.”
“Sorry to break it to you, Xa, but you don’t

know shit.”

Scowling, I shove his hand away. “And you

don’t know shit about me.”

“You’re transparent as hell,” he says,

unaffected by my pissy attitude. “You hide from
your feelings until they eat you alive. And rather
than letting them consume you, I’m going to be the
one consuming.” He leans forward, his mouth at my
ear, tickling me. “I am ravenous, boy. Fucking
starved for you.”

I let out a surprised groan when he nips at my

earlobe.

“Finish working on your song. I’m going to

plate up some food.” He stands, abandoning me on
the swing with a half hard dick and whole heart
bursting with confusing feelings.

Burn…burn…burn…
I want you to hurt me.
The song unravels inside my head. I snag up my

guitar, eager to put music to the words. With my
eyes closed, I strum the chords and sing along.

I’m lost in thought when the swing moves as he

sits back down. I’m not sure how much time has
passed, but he’s set out two plates and a couple
beers. I set my guitar down on the ground and pick
up my plate.

“This doesn’t smell like a frozen lasagna,” I say

as I stab at the steaming food with my fork. I groan
as I take a bite. “This is too fucking good to be
frozen.”

He chuckles. “While your lazy ass was sleeping

in the truck, I ran into the store to get a few
necessities. A lady named Hilda always has
something home cooked, ready for reheat. Lasagna
is a town fave.”

“I love Hilda,” I say as I inhale the lasagna.
“She’s barely five feet tall and has a wart on

her face. Still love her?”

“Yes,” I joke. “I’m going to have all her

babies.”

“You can tell her next time we run into town.”
We finish our food as he tells me about some of

the rookie cops he works with. I’m enjoying his
stories while drinking a beer…until I realize how
domestic this all feels. Familiar—like with Lex—
and easy.

I jump to my feet, suddenly alive with nerves.

“I need to go to bed.” Before he can argue, I snag
my guitar and haul ass upstairs.

It felt like a fucking date just now.
A date I was enjoying.
I’m torn between wanting to throw a goddamn

tantrum and running back downstairs to keep the
night going. Instead, I pace the bedroom floor.

Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
I stare at my Zippo I threw on the bed. The urge

to flip it open and scald my skin is intense. I could.
But Blaine said…

He wants to hurt me.
A calm washes over me at the thought of giving

my pain over for him to control. I’m always so
mentally fucking exhausted, a weight lifts at the
thought.

Before I change my mind, I storm out of the

room on a hunt for him. I find him in the kitchen
washing the few dishes we dirtied up. When he sees

my manic expression, his features harden.

“When shit piles up so high in my head, the

only way for me to make it go away is to burn it.
Something about that flame against my skin, it
leaves me blank and unfeeling inside. And when
you…” I run my fingers through my messy hair,
tugging to the point of pain. “You cause all these
confusing feelings to worsen. I feel like my head is
going to explode.”

“But…” he trails off, challenging me to fucking

beg for what I need.

“But I need you to do it for me. You said you

would, and I fucking need it. Right now.”

“You want me to hurt you, yes?”
I swallow and nod.
“Say the words, boy.” He stalks over to me,

until we’re nose to nose. “Say them.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, my cock achingly hard

between us.

He grips my hips and pushes me against the

wall. I let out a hiss when he rocks his hips against
mine, allowing me to feel how aroused he is too.
His lips fuse to mine, and I let out a defeated groan
as he dominates me with his kiss. He fists his hand
in my shirt and pulls me even closer.

“Say it, Xa.” He kisses me so deep, it makes me

dizzy. “I need to hear you say them. You need to
hear you say them.”

My body aches and buzzes with the need to feel

the burn he promised he’d deliver—a pain that will
numb my thoughts and calm my tumultuous heart.

“Please, Blaine,” I mutter. “Hurt me.”
He smiles against my lips. “Good boy.”
Those words are a shot of heroin straight into

my veins. I love the way they feel sliding through
me, making me high.

Blaine’s good boy.
Fuck.
I want to do this…whatever this is.

Holy shit.

This is happening.
I’m in the middle of Blaine’s room, my hands

raised above my head, and cuffed to a metal rack in
the ceiling. He made me remove my T-shirt, but
keep my pants on, which, for reasons I hate myself
for, disappointed me.

I fucking love having his eyes on my junk. It

makes me painfully hard. I love the ache he evokes
within me—the burn.

Burn…burn…burn…
He takes my lighter from my pocket and lights a

small red candle he pulled from a drawer. My eyes
track his movements, anticipation thickening the air
around us. The glow of the flame flickers its

promise.

“When I first saw you, my dick throbbed with

the images I conjured up in my mind of you strung
up just like this,” he croons, his eyes darkening like
a predator about to pounce. “When I came to your
house the night you got into a fight, I had to battle
all my instincts not to give you a whipping, then
spread you out over the couch, rip those tight wet
jeans from your body, and spread your ass cheeks
before filling you up with my big, fat cock. Pushing
past the muscle, skin on skin, until you cried out in
pain, then pleasure.”

He moves closer, and the blood rushes through

my veins, pounding my heart like a drum inside my
chest. “That smirk you do so effortlessly should be
a crime. It’s maddening not to be able to kiss it
from your lips. I want to feel your lips around my
cock, pump my release down your throat, taste
myself on your tongue for days,” he taunts. I gulp
and shift my feet, trying to hide my raging hard-on,
but he knows—he fucking knows what I like more
than I do.

Lifting the candle high over my shoulder, he

allows the wax to pour from the top onto my skin
and watches my face for a reaction.

A hiss leaves my lips as it makes contact, the

sting like tiny needles poking into my flesh. The
smile from his lips makes my insides dance. He
enjoys this—me—hurting me. Pleased with my

reaction, he lowers his arm, making the contact of
wax to my skin swifter. The drips run a couple
inches down my pectoral muscle before solidifying,
the red stripes like art against my pale flesh.

I focus on the pain. It’s the only thing that’s real

to me. The sweet release allows all the murky, dirty
guilt inside me to leak free, pouring out the toxic
hate I hold for myself. When his hand swipes away
the wax and his wet tongue kisses over the sting, I
groan. The pain and pleasure is mind-altering. I
want to chase the high it gives me. No drugs can
give me this.

The familiar burn ignites my flesh as the wax

drips on my chest. My cock strains and my
breathing quickens with every single drop. The fire
ebbs, then a new fire begins inside me as his lips
stroke over my nipples, teasing, tempting,
promising. I want to scream for him to touch my
cock. Please fucking touch me everywhere and
give me everything I’ve denied myself. But I’m too
fucking cowardly to ask, to admit it’s what I want.
It only makes me crave the pain.

“Hurt me,” I choke out, desperate to be

punished.

Lex’s sad eyes flash behind my eyelids. I want

to reverse time and tell him everything I should
have before he died.

It was real, Lex. I wish I could have admitted

that. Maybe things could have ended differently…

When the heat stops, I open my eyes to find

Blaine standing before me, harnessing a fucking
whip, like some sexy modern-day cowboy.

“I’m going to lash you ten times, and if you

don’t beg me to stop, I’ll reward you.” He strides
around me so he’s at my back. Large, warm hands
touch the waistband of my sweatpants, heat from
his body being so close mists over my back, his
breath just above my ear. “You won’t be needing
these,” he hums, pushing them down my legs.

My cock springs up, slapping my lower

stomach, and my ass cheeks contract. It’s
exhilarating having him behind me. It heightens
everything. When you don’t know what’s coming,
it’s electrifying. A chill races up my spine as he
steps back. I fist the restraints, preparing myself for
the crack of the whip.

The hiss through the air is my only warning

before a slash of hellfire explodes across my back. I
balk, jerking forward from the contact, then almost
whimper from the thrill of it. The sting rages, and
my cock throbs. Pleasure ripples through me when
the next one hits.

The hurt is too fucking good.
“Two,” Blaine barks from behind me, his voice

gruff with need.

The next one whips out, finding purchase

across my ass cheeks.

Crack, whoosh, snap.

Fire.
Pain.
Pleasure.
Burn…burn…burn.
Five…
Fire.
Pain.
Pleasure.
Burn…burn…burn.
Six… seven…eight…nine…
My body sags when the last one hits, the

euphoria sending shockwaves of adrenaline through
my system. My chest heaves with exhausted, lust-
filled breaths.

“You’re such a good boy, Xavi. Fucking

perfect,” Blaine growls, sweat beading on his bare
chest, his cock straining the zipper of his jeans. Is
he going to fuck me with that now? My thoughts
wander as he drops the whip and bends to his knees
in front of me.

Fuck.
Grabbing my hips, he smiles up at me before his

tongue swipes out to taste the salty goodness
glistening the head of my dick. My dick twitches
from the contact, and heat warms my spine. Holy
shit, this cop is licking my dick.

“I want to fucking drain your cock, boy. Take

everything you have left to give. Tell me what you
want me to do,” he demands.

I answer like the good boy I am. “I want you to

suck my dick.” I don’t feel the usual wash of guilt,
humiliation. No, I fucking earned the pleasure by
enduring the pain.

“Good boy,” Blaine tells me, and I blossom

under his praise like he’s the sun and I’m a flower
desperate not to wilt away.

When his mouth opens to take me in, I hold my

breath. The warmth of his lips as they descend my
length is better than anything I’ve ever felt. My
entire body tingles with sensation, hyperaware of
all contact. His hot tongue slips over my cock,
slurping away. His head bobs up and down the
length, taking me down his throat. My knees
buckle, and my balls draw up. I bite my lip so I
don’t blow too fast. I want to relish this, live in the
moment of it as long as possible.

He sucks me hard and deep, hollowing out his

cheeks. Spit drools all over me, lubing my dick,
creating a slip and slide of gratification. Kisses
trace down my dick to my balls. He sucks them into
his mouth and hums around them. It almost makes
me cry out from the agony of the pleasure. He’s an
artist down there. We fit together perfectly, lock
and key. A closed fist grips the base of my dick
while his lips go to work on the bulging head,
sucking, slurping, licking, flicking, tugging, up and
down my shaft. When I can’t take anymore, I lose
it and buck my hips forward, fucking his face, and

he lets me. His fingers grip my sore ass cheeks as
he punishes his throat by forcing me harder and
deeper. I cry out, and my spunk spurts in scorching
waves, splashing the back of this throat. He laps me
up, taking every drop. My body shudders from the
force of the emotional release. A tear leaks from
my eye.

That was everything.
Getting to his feet, he swipes the tear with his

thumb and grasps my chin, forcing our eyes to
clash. “You’re beautiful, boy. You taste like pain
and glory, and I can’t get enough.” Leaning
forward, he licks my lip, then sucks it into his
mouth. My flavor is still potent on his tongue.

Show me.
See me.
Please me.
Burn…burn…burn…

aying in my bed with Xavi sprawled out next to

me on his stomach, naked and sated, is rewarding. I
knew he needed me, just didn’t know how badly
that need was.

After applying some balm to his back, he

collapsed on the bed and hasn’t moved since. His
breathing is labored, but I know he’s awake.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about when you

use the lighter on yourself,” I say, staring up at the
ceiling.

Silence fills the room as he sucks in his breath

and holds it. “The world around me crumbled when
Lex died. I let him down, and the guilt fucking eats
away at me.” Honesty makes his words raw and
ragged.

“So the burn is to punish yourself?”
“It was at first, and now it’s a need—a craving

to escape my head.”

Leaning up on my elbow, I turn to face him,

stroking over his shoulder in a soft caress.

“How did he die?”
“Overdose.” His voice thickens with emotion.
“He was gay, right?”
He turns sharply, his brow crashing. “How

would you know that?”

“I’m a detective. It was a hunch.”
His head drops back onto the pillow as he faces

me, shifting his body to get comfortable. “Lex had
this energy, you know? He could walk in a room,
and immediately, it was a party, a better place to be.
His laughter was contagious. He infected everyone
he came into contact with.” A smile dances on his
lips. “The night he died…” he swallows hard, “we
spoke about his feelings for me.” Tears build in his
dark eyes. I want so bad to catch it, kiss it away,
but I don’t move. I allow him to finally release
what’s inside him. “I fucking felt it too, you know?
But I was so scared, so terrified of what it meant
about me. His brother, Owen? He was always
talking about marketability and how our image is
what sold us. Four single guys was sellable to our
female fans. I felt the pressure to be something I
wasn’t. Owen needed me to be this perfect front
man—straight and a pussy magnet.” Squeezing his
eyes closed, he chokes. “I told Lex I wasn’t gay.
That I was flattered, but we were just friends and
would only ever be friends. Just fucking friends.”

Water drips from his eyes, scorching a path over his
nose and seeping into the pillow. “I made him feel
like shit, made him want that hit.”

“No, don’t do that. He was an addict. He

injected that shit into himself.”

“But if I was honest with him,” he whispers. “If

I’d told him it was real… Blaine, it was real, and I
lied to him.”

“Then what? His addiction would have

disappeared? Whatever happened, he was still
going to inject that poison into his veins that night,
Xavi.”

He nods, the movements stiff and his jaw tense.

“Deep down, I know that. But he still died with my
lie in his mind.”

“You weren’t ready, and he probably knew

that. You were best friends. He knew you, Xa—he
fucking knew you.” I pull him into my arms, letting
him release all his anger and tears. “It’s going to be
okay, boy. I promise.”

I need a reprieve from me.

I don’t even know who I am. I don’t even know

who I want to be.

I need a reprieve from me.
I like the pain. I fucking need it.

To feel the flame, suppress the blame.
I need a reprieve from me.

Why won’t you let me burn?
Show me how. Make me learn.

Burn…burn…burn…
I need a reprieve from me.
Show me how. Make me learn.

Burn…burn…burn…

I don’t want to feel anymore. Everything’s too

raw.

Pain and sorrow are too hard to swallow.
I need a reprieve from me.
I’m already burning.
Ignite my yearning.

Burn…burn…burn...

Show me.
See me.
Please me.

Burn…burn…burn…

Hurt me.

I reread the lyrics he eloquently wrote in his

open notebook, and a heavy sigh leaves my lips.
We’ve been at the cabin for two weeks now, and I
expected him to go stir fucking crazy with no
Internet or parties to act foolish at, but he’s
surprised me. Writing new lyrics every day,
strumming new melodies. It’s incredible to watch
his process, to see the magic come together before
my very eyes. He appears to have reclaimed
himself while being out here.

Opening up sexually has lifted an enormous

weight from him, but it worries me that in a week
we will be back in the city and the pressure will be
back on him. A knot forms in my gut at the idea of
not having him in my bed. Ever since the night of
his first whipping, he’s spent every night in my bed,
sleeping and touching, but not fucking. That’s new
for me—the buildup, the intimacy—and I don’t
want to let go of it. He will be going back to his
own soon enough, and that leaves a chill around my
heart.

I didn’t expect to be this invested, this

connected to someone. But it’s undeniable, the
affection I have for the boy. A week left of having
him to myself. Then back to reality. Back to our
lives. Back to the pressure of being this pussy-
eating rock god.

He stirs in his sleep, the dark curls of his hair

falling over his eyes as he shifts onto his side. “You

been watching me long, perv?” He grins, and I want
to tongue fuck the dimple it creates.

“Long enough to want to eat you, boy,” I tease,

lurching forward and yanking at his jeans. He
thrashes and pretends to try to flee, but he soon
begins laughing hard, making my dick twitch.

I yank his jeans down and groan at the sight of

his bare ass, then sink my teeth into the flesh on
display for me. He yelps from the puncture, then
pushes his hips up, presenting himself to me.

My rough palms splay his cheeks so my tongue

can flick out to rim the crease. His face burrows
into the cushions as I rim his knot, devouring him,
dribbling my saliva over him so I can push a finger
inside his ass while I massage his asshole with my
tongue.

Moans hum through the room.
My cock is hard and ready, but he’s not. I have

yet to fuck him like I want to.

I plow my finger into him and curl my arm

around his waist, grasping his cock in my palm and
squeezing. Dragging my fist up his shaft, I kiss and
caress his ring while finger fucking his hole fast and
hard, adding another digit when he cries out in
pleasure.

Cum drips down my fist as he shudders his

release—hot, intense, fast.

Grabbing my own cock, I rub it up and down

his flesh, pushing his cheeks together and

cocooning my cock as I pump my hips forward,
letting his ass crack jerk me off.

When he looks over his shoulder at me, I lose

my load all up his back. I fucking want inside him
so bad, it’s torture.

“You ever going to fuck me, perv?” he asks

with a raised brow.

I stiffen everywhere and count down inside my

mind to calm myself and prevent from wrecking his
tight little hole in one thrust. Once I have myself
under control, I lick my lips. Bending down, I kiss
his asshole. “Soon, when you’re ready for me,
boy.”

But the truth is, I’m not sure I’m ready.
The moment I truly have him, I’m afraid I may

never let him go.

That’s scary as hell for a guy like me—one who

likes to dabble and play, but never stays. This
broken, tortured boy, though…

Fuck, he makes me want things I’ve never

wanted before.

More.

“What is this place?” Xavi asks, hiding a smile.

“A honky tonk bar. Ever heard of one?”
His nostrils flare, and his eyes light up with

amusement. “I sing rock, not country, man. This is
the kind of shit they sing about in songs. Never
thought it was real life.”

“It’s real,” I say with a chuckle.
He picks up his beer and sips on it while my

eyes track the other patrons. We’ve been cooped
up in the cabin and I thought we were due for a
night out. Problem with Xavi is he’s fucking
famous. You can’t go in public without people
noticing him.

Unless you go to the most redneck bar you can

find.

And make him wear a ball cap.
My eyes land on his, and I admire how fucking

hot he is wearing my Yankees ball cap. The bill
shadows his face and highlights his pouty mouth.
I’ve been hard ever since we sat down at this high-
top table. I want his mouth on mine, then wrapped
around my dick.

“You have a possessive glint in your eyes,” he

says, biting the inside corner of his bottom lip. “You
can’t suck my cock in front of everyone. They’ll
kick our asses.”

Leaning forward, I stretch my leg between his

under the table. “I was thinking your lips on my
dick sounded better.”

He tenses and darts a nervous glance over his

shoulder. As much as I want to flaunt Xavi Jacobs
as my boy, he’s not ready for that. Not even

fucking close.

“Later,” I promise. “Maybe even in the parking

lot if you’re a good boy.”

His Adam’s apple bobs and he lets out a

chuckle. “And if some cowboys walk by? Then
what? This doesn’t seem like the kind of town that
accepts…” he trails off and frowns.

Fuck, those lips are going to be the death of me.
“Accepts what?” I demand, rubbing at his leg

with mine.

His cheeks blaze crimson, and he dips his head,

hiding his features. Reaching forward, I put a finger
under his chin and lift his gaze to meet mine. I arch
a brow, challenging him.

“Whatever this is,” he grinds out, his jaw

clenching.

“Right now, it’s called fucking around.” I wink

at him. “Soon, it’ll be just plain ol’ fucking.”

His full lips tug into a smile. I pull away when a

waitress with big tits brings us another round of
beers.

“Doll, I’ve been looking at you for an hour now

trying to place where I know you,” she says,
tapping her cheek as she attempts to remember.
“Did you go out with Lucy Monroe from Madison
High a few years ago?”

“Nah,” he says. “I’m not from around here.”
“I swear I know you,” she whines.
“Can you bring us some potato skins?” I ask,

changing the subject. “Extra sour cream?”

“Oh, sure, handsome. I’ll get right on it,” she

purrs, stroking my bicep. “Holler if you need
anything.”

She bounces off, and Xavi lets out a heavy sigh.
“She likes you,” he says, his eyes dark with

irritation.

“Does that bother you?”
“I didn’t think it would, but I didn’t like her

touching you.”

“Because I’m yours?” I challenge.
His smile is so fucking hot. “Something like

that.”

“I’m going to reward that sexy mouth later.

Jealousy looks really good on you.”

He darts his gaze over to where the waitress is

talking to another group of guys before turning his
attention back on me. He leans closer, wickedness
gleaming in his eyes. “I’ll suck your cock so hard,
you’ll forget your own name, much less what that
bitch looked like.”

My dick strains in my jeans. “You’re poking the

beast.”

“Good. I hope he bites.”
Oh, he fucking bites all right.
I stand up and lean in to whisper, making sure

to grab his dick under the table through his jeans.
“I’m going to go take a piss and settle my cock,
boy. You’re going to get our skins to go. Then,

you’re going straddle me in the cab of my truck
while I fuck this hard cock with my hand and bite
on that hot as fuck bottom lip. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”
“Good boy.”

I rip at his shirt and my mouth fuses to his once
more. The truck cab is dark, and our breaths fog up
the windows. His dick is freed from his jeans like I
promised it would be. I jerk at him, hard and
unrelenting. He cries out when I bite hard on his
bottom lip, tugging it.

“Pull my cock out,” I instruct, my voice husky.
He fumbles at my jeans, then has my aching

dick in his hot hand. Together, we jerk each other
off, fast and frantically. It’s frenzied—reminding
me of when I came out of the closet in high school
and had my first encounter with a guy. Xavi makes
me feel young again. Not some bitter, grumpy cop
who likes to top broken boys like him.

“Fuck,” I hiss. “I’m about to come.”
He works me harder, and then I’m moaning.

My nuts seize up in pleasure. A growl escapes him
before his own cum spurts out, soaking my hand.
Once we’re sated, I grab his discarded shirt and
clean us up. I put him back in his jeans, and then do

the same for myself. When he starts to slide off my
lap, I grip his hips.

“I like you here,” I tell him, pressing a kiss to

his chest.

He relaxes, then runs his fingers through my

hair. “I’m not used to all this yet.”

“But you like it.”
“I do.”
I run my palms up the sides of his ribs, admiring

his lean, muscular physique.

“Do you like being a cop?” he asks, his fingers

scratching my scalp in an intimate way I’ve never
experienced with anyone.

I don’t cuddle.
With Xavi, though, I want to cuddle the fuck

out of him.

“Since I was a kid.”
“Now?”
I frown. I think about Frank Sanders. Shot in

the fucking face by a man he pulled over for
speeding. That shit disturbs me every time it
happens.

“It’s not as satisfying as it once was,” I admit.

I’m surprised to say those words. I haven’t
admitted that to anyone, not even Ronan or Joshua.

“Would you ever do anything else?”
“I’ve had some offers to do private security.

The older I get, the more I consider it. Money sure
is better,” I say with a grunt. “Maybe one day.”

“I can’t imagine doing anything but singing

from the fucking soul. Without my voice, I’m
fucking no one.”

I grip his jaw, our lips nearly touching. “Your

music is a major part of you, but it’s not you.
You’re deep, and you wear your heart on your
sleeve. I’ve seen the way you talk about your
bandmates. There’s more to you than what you can
do. I see you, boy.”

He doesn’t answer me, just kisses me hard. I

can feel the smile against my mouth and vow to
give him more praise. He fucking glows every time
I give it.

Xavi Jacobs needs someone like me to pull him

out of his hole, dust him off, and show him just how
fucking amazing he is.

Not just someone.
Me.

’m antsy.

And stressed as hell.
He won’t fuck me. I’ve been dying for it. Hell,

he’s been prepping me for it. I think I’m finally
over the mental block of being with a guy. With
Blaine, it doesn’t feel gay or wrong, it just feels
good. I wake up with his scent permeating around
me and live to hear the deep gravelly timbre of his
voice when he tells me good morning. I never knew
I’d love such a simple routine—and with a man—
but I do.

Which makes it incredibly difficult to know

we’re leaving today and haven’t fucked.

What’s wrong with me?
Did he change his mind?
Am I too shattered in the head?
“Toss your bags in the truck whenever you’re

ready to leave. I’ll make us something to eat before

we load up to get on the road.” His command
brokers no room for argument.

Fuck him.
Anger churns in my gut. It’s a much easier pill

to swallow than rejection.

You rejected Lex, asshole.
Yeah, and look where that landed him.
By tonight, my life will be business as usual.

Nights spent with my friends and parties full of
chicks wanting to get laid by any member in the
hottest band in America. I’ll go back to being under
the microscope and popular as fuck.

That’s who I am.
Xavi Jacobs, lead singer of Berlin Scandal.
Fucking hot.
Badass.
Fun.
Not this…
Not some fucking twink shacking up with a cop

who feels sorry for him. Jesus. When I lay it out
that way, I can see how pathetic I am. No wonder
he doesn’t want to fuck me. I wouldn’t want to
fuck me. I’d want to send me back on my way.
Back to them. My people. The ones who love me
for who they think I am—fucked up and ruined.

Blaine is not Lex.
Blaine is just a guy who thought he could mess

around with me and got in over his head.

The rejection rages through me, hot and furious.

I try to ignore it as I throw shit into the cab of his
truck. Once I’ve loaded my bags, I chain smoke,
my hands shaking violently. I’m thrumming with a
wild energy building into something catastrophic. I
hate that I feel helpless against it.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and I inhale

the scent of coming rain. It’s so peaceful out here,
and good for the soul. But now that I’m leaving, all
my demons have run out to play with my emotions.

I need to go back in there and eat, but I can’t

face him.

Not when I feel like I’ll fucking cry like a

pussy.

It’s real to me.
I want to scream it at Blaine like I never could

to Lex.

But what happens when he tells me it was fun,

but I’m too much for him? That it was great while it
lasted, but he’s ready to go back to his life—
without me in it?

Rain starts pattering on my face. I turn my head

up to take the abuse of the stinging pellets. The
urge to burn, despite the forces of nature trying to
put me out, is strong.

I yank my Zippo from my pocket, and for the

first time since Blaine caught me with it, I flip it
open with the intent to sear some control back into
my senses. The moment the flame singes the hairs
on my arm, something dark flashes forward,

knocking the lighter from my hand. It hits the grass
with a thud.

I’m left staring into violent eyes.
Oh shit.
I’ve never seen Blaine so…pissed.
“What the hell, Xa?” he growls, his voice not

so different than the thunder behind him.

Clenching my jaw, I attempt to tear my stare

from his. How do I explain the storm of emotions
inside me? I don’t fucking want to.

“Let’s just go,” I snap back.
“You look at me when we’re talking, boy.” His

icy cold command forces my gaze to his. “That’s
better. Now, you’re going to tell me why in the hell
you developed an attitude problem in the last ten
minutes.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter!” I roar, shoving him

away from me, needing space and air and freedom.

“It matters to me,” he snarls, rushing me again.

His hands fist my shirt, and he shoves me against
the side of his truck. “What happened?”

My throat aches.
It was real to me. That’s what fucking

happened.

“Boy, with the way your teeth are clenching, I

can tell you’re holding in a lot of shit you
desperately need to say. Out with it.”

The rain comes down harder, soaking us

quickly to the bone.

“I’m homesick,” I lie. “I just want to go home.”
His nostrils flare. His eyes blaze with intensity.

“That’s how you want to play this?”

I lift my chin and glower at him. “Yep.”
He grinds his hips against mine. My body reacts

naturally after weeks of being with him. I’m hard.
He’s hard. We’re both fired up and ready. Ready
for something he won’t give.

“I punish liars,” he says, his eyes dropping to

my lips. He moves his hips against mine, sending
zings of pleasure splintering through me. “You want
to be punished, Xa?”

Yes.
“No.”
“I guess I have my answer.” He trails soft kisses

along my wet face to my neck. Then he bites me.

“Fuck!” I roar, trying and failing to shove the

feral beast off me.

I feel his smile on my throat. Sadistic asshole.

Then his mouth is sucking me hard like he does my
dick. I groan. It feels good—too good. With just his
lips on my neck and his dick grinding on mine, I’m
starting to forget what I was mad about. All I feel is
him. On me. Scorching inside me. His touch is
addictive and thrilling.

Real.
I’m going to miss it.
I start to shove him away, but he yanks at the

button of my jeans, then his hot hand is inside my

pants, gripping my aching length. His jerks on my
dick are painful and punishing, but I thrust against
him eagerly. A low moan rumbles through me as my
nuts seize up.

He releases me and steps back.
“What the fuck?” I gasp, my chest heaving.
“Get on your knees, boy, so I can fuck your

face. Liars have to choke on cock before they can
come.”

Jesus, he is a filthy bastard.
I want to fight him on this. I want to demand to

know what’s happening. Why I’m not real enough
for him. Instead, I drop to my knees, pulling at his
button and zipper, eager to taste him. He hisses the
moment I grip his length and lick his tip.

Thick, veiny, long.
I’ve dreamed about this fucking cock buried

deep inside me for far too long. It’s on the tip of my
tongue to beg for it. When I look up at him, he
grabs a handful of my hair with one hand, pulling so
tight, it makes tears prickle in my eyes.

“Don’t just look at it, Xa,” he orders. “Suck on

it. Taste it. Swallow me down. Understand?”

My lips part. Fuck me, please. He must sense

my pleas because he shakes his head at me before
guiding my mouth to his dick.

This is it.
A fucking goodbye.
Since this is probably the last dick I’ll ever

suck, I throw every last ounce of me into giving
him head. I suck and slurp and gag. I choke on his
fat dick and squeeze at his balls. I scrape my teeth
along his length and inhale his familiar scent. And
when I hear him grunting in pleasure, I force him
deep into my throat, trying desperately to ignore
the way my muscles contract to reject his thickness.

“My fucking boy,” he rasps out as he comes,

hard and violent down my throat.

The heat burns my abused throat, but I take it.

Sometimes goodbyes are bitter, but still fucking
perfect. Once I swallow down the last of him, I
stand on shaky legs, unable to meet his stare. He
zips himself back up, then pounces on me.

“Your punishment,” he growls as he grabs my

dick and squeezes, “for lying is to look into my
eyes while I make you come. I need to see all your
truths, even if you fail to speak them.”

Our eyes lock as he strokes me.
Pleasure. Pain.
Hate. Love.
Elation. Devastation.
Why won’t you fuck me?
Why won’t you love me?
His eyes never leave mine, forcing me to

silently reveal all my inner secrets. The rain hides
my tears, but it doesn’t hide the pain. When my
body trembles with the need to come, he strokes
me hard until I release with a groan. My chin

trembles. I don’t know what to do.

I’m fucking losing it.
By this time tomorrow, I’ll be officially lost.
His hand grips my jaw, and he kisses my

wobbling lip until it stills. “Let’s go home, boy. It’s
time.”

Two weeks later…

I stare at the handful of pills in the chick’s hands,
but wave her off. “I said I’m not in the mood.”

Owen’s head snaps my way and he kisses the

girl he’s talking to before walking over to me.
“Everything okay?”

“I just want him to party with me,” the girl

pouts.

“Beautiful, we’re about to go onstage. Come

find us after, yeah?” he says, turning on the charm.

She bats her lashes at him. “Sure thing, Owen.”
“Can you give us a minute?” he asks.
Once she’s gone, he grips my shoulders and

leans his forehead to mine. “You’ve been different
since you got back a couple weeks ago. Why won’t
you talk about it? What happened?”

I clench my jaw. “Nothing.”
I’m not about to admit to one of my best friends

that I tried gay. Loved it. But then wasn’t fucking
good enough to stay that way. I wonder if that’s
how Lex felt. Bitterness churns in my gut. I want to
get fucked up, but alone.

Just like Lex.
Tears threaten, and I pull away from my friend.
“Everyone out,” Owen barks. “Right fucking

now.”

Seth and Riley are laser-focused on me. They

start herding people out, leaving me alone with
Owen. Great, I’m being tag-teamed with their shit.

“We’re about to go on,” I complain. “We can

talk later.”

“No,” Owen says. “We’re going to talk right

now. I lost someone I loved because I blew them
off. Not happening again.”

My heart feels as though it’s going to explode

inside my chest.

“I loved him too,” I bark out, my words boiling

with emotion. “Not just you.”

His gaze softens. “We all did, man. He was my

brother. It crushed me when he died.”

“He was my best friend…”
“And…” he implores.
“And what?” I roar, shoving him. “What the

fuck do you mean ‘and’?”

He glowers at me. “Stop bullshitting us, Xavi.

Everyone knows you two had a thing.”

Time stops. “A thing?”

“Fucking? Boyfriends? I don’t know what the

fuck it was!” He throws his hands in the air, his
face turning red with anger.

I swing at him, but he ducks and points a

warning finger at me.

“It was nothing!” I bellow. “Fucking nothing

because of me!”

His brows furl together. “What do you mean?”
My shoulders slump. “He wanted to be more,

and I let him down. I wasn’t ready. Maybe if I’d
been ready…”

Owen pounces on me, but not to hit me. I’m

crushed in a brotherly hug. “Lex had fucking
issues, man. You hear me? That was on him. He
loved you, and you loved him. If he hadn’t been
fucked over his need for heroin, he’d have waited
until you got there. Everyone knows this.”

Everyone but me, apparently.
“I think I’m gay,” I whisper, finally allowing it

to break free. “I was with Blaine.”

“I know, man. I know.” He doesn’t release me.

“Why are you so scared to be happy?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Because it should

have been with him.”

“But it wasn’t,” he says softly. “You can still be

happy with someone else.”

“What about the band? Our image. You…” I

trail off.

“You think I care about who you fuck? I just

want you to smile once in a fucking while and mean
it. I want you to crank out songs like the ones you
wrote while at the cabin. I want my friend back—
the guy who’s been missing since my brother died.”

“But people see Berlin Scandal and they see

four guys who like to fuck girls.”

He shakes his head as he pulls away. “No,

dumbass. They see Berlin Scandal as the best rock
band since Nirvana. What they hear is even more
important. Soul in songs. Feelings and depth and a
rawness you don’t get from regular, mainstream
shit. They hear our hearts bleeding because we all
went through some fucked up shit—and our fans
can relate to that, brother. Not who’s hole we stick
our dicks in. We’re more than our sexual
orientation. Jesus.”

“I thought maybe you didn’t like me and Lex

being together because it was fucking with our
fanbase…” It sounds pretty stupid, but it’s true.

“I didn’t like the idea of my druggie brother

bringing down the lead singer of my band. Lex
needed help, not a partner in crime. I was
concerned when it came to his using. And with how
close you two were, I worried with time you’d be
using like him too.”

Having Owen’s acceptance is a huge relief. I

didn’t realize the agonizing weight crushing me
until it’d been lifted.

“It’s going to be a scandal when it gets out,” I

warn. “I can’t do that to you guys.”

“Fuck them,” he growls. “Besides, that song is

fucking amazing. They’ll be more addicted to the
new stuff than the fact that you like to suck dick.”

I give him a playful shove. “Shut up, asshole.”
His smile is crooked and boyish, reminding me

of when we were just a couple kids with an idea to
start a garage band. “My lips are sealed. I won’t
say anything until you’re ready to tell people.” His
brow lifts. “So the cop, huh? Did he handcuff you
to the bed?”

If only Blaine were that simple…
“Something like that,” I admit, a smile tugging

at my lips. But as soon as it breaches my face, it
falls. “I think we’re done.”

“Hence the shitty attitude,” he says. “And why

are you suddenly done?”

My nostrils flare. I don’t want to tell him, but

it’s Owen. “He won’t fuck me.”

“Maybe he likes taking it up the ass instead,”

he offers, waggling his eyebrows at me.

“No,” I say with a frown. “I think I’m too much

for him.”

Owen scowls. “Bullshit. You’re Xavi fucking

Jacobs. Of course you’re too much, but that’s what
makes you so fucking cool. His dick is broken if he
doesn’t want you.”

I laugh. It feels weird talking about this shit

with him, but freeing too. “I thought he wanted me.

We did all kinds of kinky shit, but then it was time
to come back home. I just…I don’t know. He tried
texting me, but I haven’t replied.”

Owen’s hand grips my shoulder. “Did you talk

to him or did you blow everything up to epic
proportions like usual inside that fucking crazy
head of yours?”

I flip him off.
“That’s what I thought,” he says. “After the

show, call him. Take him on a fucking date or
whatever the fuck. Just talk to him. Maybe it’s you
being a fucking freak like usual.”

My heart stammers. “You think?”
“At least then you’ll know. And if he’s an

asshole who doesn’t want you, that’s his loss.
There’s probably a world of hot gay dudes who
would fall at your fucking feet the moment you tell
everyone. You may bat for the opposite team, but I
can guarantee you’ll have a whole team show up
with their bats ready to play.”

I only want one bat.
I want Blaine on my team.
“Let’s go, bros,” Seth hollers, peeking his head

inside the door. “You two fuckfaces can make out
later. Right now, we have a club full of people to
unveil our newest songs to.”

Owen gives me a wink, and we head out.

The crowd for the small club is jam packed and
insane. I’m soaked in sweat as we make it through
our usual set and a couple new songs. The last song
is the new one, “Burn.” As soon as Riley starts
pounding on the drums, I step up to the mic with
my Gibson Les Paul and strum the first chord,
finding myself thrust back to the cabin.

With him.
Long, hot, passionate nights.
Intimate conversations.
Being held and cared for.
Maybe I had misread things. It’s not unusual for

me to fuck everything up. Blaine doesn’t seem the
type to string people along or toy with them. He
never once said he didn’t want to see me when we
got back.

I hate that hope stirs in my gut, but it fuels me

on to sing my heart out.

“Burn…burn…burn…” I croon. “Why won’t

you let me burn?”

As I sing, I scan the sea of faces, feeling

intensity coming from someone in particular. I seek
out the heat like all those times I wanted the burn
on my skin to fucking feel grounded in the moment.
When my eyes lock on Blaine’s, I nearly stop
breathing. But I keep singing the song, trapped in

his gaze.

A man in a suit leans in close and whispers

something to Blaine. Blaine’s hard look transforms
into a beautiful one as he smiles. I jerk my gaze to
the guy, glaring at him. My words become hard and
raspy as I repeat, “Burn…burn…burn…”

The guy’s hand is on his bicep.
Touching what’s mine.
He’s fucking mine.
Did Blaine think I pushed him away? That I

don’t want him anymore? Is he already dating
someone else?

I finish the song and thank the audience.
And then I’m on the move.
“Get ‘em!” Owen howls into the mic before

thanking the fans some more and telling them we’re
headed back to the studio to record more songs like
Burn.

As the crowd goes wild, I launch myself past

the sea of people trying to throw themselves at me.
I’m a man on a mission, and nothing will stop me.

When I make a break from the crowd and see

Blaine perched at the bar with the handsy dude, I
rush them. The guy’s eyes widen when I approach,
and he wisely jerks his hand back. My hot gaze
lands on Blaine.

He fucking smirks.
Smug bastard.
“Mine,” is all I say before grabbing his face

with both hands and crashing my lips to his.

His hands are possessive as he clutches my ass,

hauling me between his spread legs. Our kiss
intensifies with need. He bites my lip, teasing me,
but it’s in a familiar, affectionate way that warms
my fucking soul.

“About damn time you came to your senses,

my boy.”

My boy.
I’m fucking his, and he’s fucking mine.
“I need you,” I murmur against his mouth.
“And you’re going to have me.”
A chill shivers down my spine. Fucking finally.

ubbing his neck anxiously, Xavi paces the floor

of my living room. After getting a firm nod from
Joshua that it was okay to bail on him, I brought
Xavi back to my place. The drive was torturous as
hell, my dick ready to explode, but after Xavi
checking his phone for the fifteenth time since he
got inside the condo, all that heat has turned
fucking ice cold.

“Everything okay?” I ask with a frown, slipping

out of my jacket and loosening the buttons on my
shirt.

It’s been a couple weeks since we last spoke. I

tried texting him, but got no reply. He clearly
needed space. As much as it fucking killed me, I
didn’t chase him. I don’t fucking chase people. I
knew he would come to me when he was ready,
and that happened to be a lot sooner than expected.

“We’re trending,” he says, shaking his head.

“People took pictures of me kissing you.”

My jaw tightens. “And?”
“And my fans are going wild.”
“Bad wild?” I ask, turning my back to get a

bottle of liquor from the cabinet. I still my
movements when warm arms encompass me from
behind.

“Good wild. They love the new songs and are

hashtagging #XaviIsInLove.”

My heart pounds in my chest. “And is it true?”

My tone is gruff as I turn and grasp his face, darting
his eyes to mine. “Are you in love, boy?”

“I promised myself after Lex I wouldn’t ever

lie if I was asked that question.”

“So don’t lie,” I prompt.
“Fucking madly,” he growls.
“Fucking madly,” I echo, crashing my lips to his

and backing him across the room to my bedroom.
Pulling away from his lips, I nip and tease the skin
of his neck. I tear his shirt in half, littering the floor
with the material.

“I want to know what it’s like,” he pants.
“What what’s like?” I growl, yanking open his

jeans and shoving him backward onto the bed.

“What it’s like to have you completely.”
“Tell me exactly what you want, boy,” I

rumble, tearing off my clothes and tugging his jeans
from him.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Those magic fucking words are like music to

my ears. I flash him a wicked smile.

Pulling open the bedside drawer, I take out a

bottle of lube. “You’re a good boy, but I’m going to
fuck you like you’re a bad one.”

His breathing elevates, and his cock strains,

creamy liquid coating the tip. I lather up my cock
with lube, giving the length a couple long, firm
strokes. Snagging Xavi’s ankle, I lift his leg over my
shoulder and lean in to ravish his mouth with mine,
taking my time dueling with his tongue. His hands
explore the planes of my body as I fist his cock,
moving to his balls and then stroking a finger down
the crease of his ass. I test his hole with a prod, and
he accepts me greedily. I stretch him, preparing the
muscles for my hard, fat cock. Sitting back, I take
his ankles into my hands and spread his legs.

“Stroke that pretty dick for me,” I tell him.
Long fingers curl around his girth, massaging. I

line my cock up with his asshole and tip my hips
forward, breaching the rings of muscle there.

“Fuck, fuck,” he hisses.
“It’s just pressure. Relax and let me in, boy,” I

command. “Let me fucking love you.”

Licking his lips, his head bobs manically as his

hand furiously fists his dick. He likes the pain with
pleasure. I piston my hips, pushing my cock in
farther.

“More,” he begs.

Releasing his ankles, I collapse over him,

catching my fall with my arms and resting them
each side of his head. I look into his glazed brown
eyes as I sink all the way into him. Our mutual
moans fill the room.

A frenzy takes us over, lips crashing, hands

pulling and groping. I punish him with hard, manic
thrusts, my balls slapping against his ass cheeks as
my dick burrows inside him. We fuck, we dance,
we sing, we make love. Sweat creates a mist over
our skin, allowing me to glide over him.

“Turn over,” I growl into his ear, slipping my

cock out of him, mourning the loss of his warmth
around me.

Obeying, he flips over onto his stomach, lifting

his ass.

I kiss down his back, lapping up the scent of his

sweat and nibbling his ass cheeks, leaving my mark.
My tongue teases the crack and swirls his asshole
before I straighten, line my cock back up with his
hole, and thrust forward.

Grabbing his hips, I pound into him, my release

beckoning. He’s so tight, the muscles of his anus
caress my cock with each plunge. Curling my hand
around his waist, I grip his hand that’s stroking his
cock, and I help pump him until we both cry out
our release.

We collapse on the bed, panting as we come

down.

“That was worth the wait, boy.” I grin, dragging

him over my chest and dropping a kiss to head.

“Sure was, perv.”

Three weeks later…

Sitting across from Joshua at his club, Hush, I
eyeball the scratches around his neck and the cut
on his lip. “You need to tell me something?”

A sly grin tugs up the side of his face. “I don’t

fuck and tell, you know that.”

It’s not like him to enjoy the rough edge games,

but hey, who am I to judge?

“You decided what you’re going to do about

Ronan’s offer?” he asks, checking his phone.

Sighing, I swirl the drink in my bottle and tap

my fingers on the table. “He made an offer that’s
hard to refuse. I mean, going with my boy for the
three months he’s touring is the cherry on the
creamy fucking frosting.” I wink.

“He finally found your price?” He chuckles,

drinking his whiskey.

“My work can be mentally draining. It might do

me good to step away for a while. I can always go
back.”

“So, fulltime bodyguard for the band while they

tour next year,” he says with a whistle. “You’ve
had worse jobs.”

Jabbing him in the arm, I check my watch and

throw some cash on the table before getting to my
feet. He always argues when I try to pay for drinks
at his club, but I always win that battle. I wave him
goodbye and head down the corridor to the private
room I’ve booked for the night. I rap my knuckles
on the wood and wait. The door clicks open, and
there he fucking is, right on time.

Xavi Jacobs, lead singer of Berlin Scandal, and

my fucking boy.

“Hey, perv,” Xavi rumbles.
“That’s going to cost you, boy.”
His eyes dart to the wall lined with paddles,

whips, and crops. “A spanking?”

I smirk as I let the door close behind me. “You

know me better than that. Nothing is ever that
simple.” I reach forward and unbutton his jeans.
“Pull these down to your knees, then put your
hands on the wall.”

“Are you going to arrest me, officer?” he

taunts, his dark eyes flickering with wickedness.

“That’s detective to you, son. Now, assume the

position before you make this ten times worse.”

With his eyes on mine, he shoves his jeans

down his thighs. It fucking gets me hard every time
he goes commando. Knowing he’s free-balling
whenever we go out is maddening. His cock juts

out at me. He presses his palms to the wall and
looks over his shoulder with that haughty smirk
he’s perfected.

It’s like he loves to push and disobey just so I’ll

set him straight.

We’re a match made in hell.
Playfully, I smack his ass cheek. “Don’t look at

me. Eyes forward or this will get much worse for
you.”

“Oooh, I’m scared,” he sasses. Fucking brat.
Ignoring his taunting, I grip his hips, making

him step farther away from the wall, then guide his
hands down so he’s nearly bent in half. “These,” I
murmur as I reach between his spread thighs and
gently massage his balls, “should be scared.” With
those words, I pop his nut sack.

He howls, clenching his ass. “Motherfucker!”
“Keep mouthing off,” I warn.
His grumbles are kept under his breath. Good

boy. Leaving him for the moment, I walk over to
the wall and consider my choices. He loves a good
old fashioned ass whipping. The more it stings and
burns, the better for my masochistic boy. I select a
long crop with leather fringe at the end. Paddles are
fun, but I’m looking for something more precise.
Smirking, I make my way back over to him and toss
the crop on the bed before stripping down, then
pick it up once more.

“I won’t go easy on you,” I tell him, gently

caressing his ass cheek.

“You never do.”
“I’m going to whip the fuck out of you, and

then you’re going to ride my dick like a good boy.
You’re going to lube your ass up while I watch,
climb on, and show me how good you can fuck.
And if I think you’re slacking off, I’m going to
smack your pretty dick and watch you cry.”

“I won’t fucking cry,” he growls.
“I’ll make you cry.” A sinister grin spreads

across my face. “And then you’ll come because
you love the pain, boy. You love it so fucking much.
That even when you’re crying and your dick is in
so much pain, you’ll spurt all over my chest
because that’s what good boys do.”

“Fuck off,” he rumbles.
God, he really knows the buttons to push to get

my dick hard and the urge to punish him
overwhelming.

Whap!
The crop slices through the air, between his

thighs, slapping his nut sac, making him scream. I
fucking love his screams. Digging my fingers in his
hip to hold him still, I strike him again, this time on
the back of his thigh. He squirms and curses, but he
never takes his hands from the wall. To reward him,
I rub my finger between his cheeks, teasing his
hole, then smack his ass with the crop.

Whap!

Whap!
Whap!
I watch with delight as red stripes crisscross his

pale flesh. So fucking beautiful. When my dick is
seeping with the need to be inside him, I toss the
crop to the floor and step back.

“You know what I want,” I growl as I lie back

on the bed.

He trembles as he removes the rest of his

clothing. His dick is hard and bobbing, the tip
glistening with pre-cum. He picks up the Hush
complimentary pouch of lube and tears it open with
his teeth. My gaze sears into him as I watch him
pour it all over his fingers and then reach behind
himself to get it ready.

“Show me, boy,” I order.
His eyes flicker with heat before he turns

around. I watch with satisfaction as he fingerfucks
his asshole. When he adds a second finger, I groan.

“Good,” I croon. “Now come sit on my cock

where you belong.”

He pulls his fingers out, then straddles me on

the bed. I stroke his cock as he grips my dick to
ease himself down over my length.

“Fuck me good,” I instruct. “I want to see your

dick bouncing.”

Just like when he’s on stage, he rocks his hips

and dances to songs that only play inside his head.
So fucking hot and mine. I still can’t believe it. My

eyes take in his perfect form and the way his lower
abs flex each time he moves his body over mine.

“Faster,” I command, desperate to see him lose

control.

With his naughty gaze on mine, he slows it to a

teasing crawl.

“Bad boy,” I snarl.
I smack his dick, making his ass clench around

my cock.

“Fuck!” he hisses. “Fuck!”
“Faster then.”
He stays steady, taunting and teasing.
I slap his dick harder, and he cries out and starts

to pull away, but I grip his hips, forcing him to fuck
me faster. His fingers dig into my chest as he gives
in and starts moving quicker. With his eyes closed
and his mouth parted, he looks like a fucking angel.
I’ve never seen anything so fucking gorgeous in all
my life.

“Come here and kiss me, boy,” I beg, hating

how needy I sound.

He flashes me the sweetest of smiles. “I love

you, Blaine.”

Our lips crash together, a chaotic thrashing of

tongues, lips, and teeth. He owns me heart and soul
with one kiss, while I own his body and mind with
mine. We’re a perfect pair, creating something
fucking magical together.

I’m about to come, so I reach between us and

jerk him right into ecstasy. The moment he moans,
his ass clenching around my dick, I come with a
groan. I fill him up, and when I’m wrung dry, I yank
him to me. My cock softens and slips out of him,
my seed leaking out all over the fucking place.

We’re a mess, but cleaning up my dirty boy is

always the best part. I hug him to me and kiss his
sweaty head, holding him close to my heart where
he belongs.

“Love you too, Xa. Always will.”
He relaxes against me. It fills me with pride that

he lets go of all the pressures of the world and all
his inner chaos when we’re together. He frees
himself for me, and oh what a gift it is. There have
been many men in my past, but not one compares
to Xavi Jacobs. He’s feeling and beauty and
eroticism and music all wrapped into a broken,
sexy-as-sin boy.

I may share him during the day with the world

—the one he’s designed for them to see.

But every night, I get Xa. The real him. Free,

vulnerable, unsure. He’s given me the softest parts
of him and trusted me to take care of him.

He’s my boy.
He’ll always be my boy.

Two months later…

ou cut me open.

Filled me up with you.
Never needed stitches, ‘cause you’re the

fuckin’ glue.

I smirk, imagining Sofina echoing those words

with me. It’ll sound sweet with her velvety voice
dripping like honey all over those dark lyrics. Us
coming together for a collaboration was one of
Ronan’s best ideas yet.

Sofina is fucking brilliant. What started as a

dinner between friends quickly turned into a
brainstorming session in Ronan’s kitchen. We
playfully started singing one of her songs, then one
of mine, and then we sort of blended them, jiving
off each other. Ronan’s eyes were fucking huge
when he and Blaine came in not long after.

And so our collab was born.

We’ve decided to write something new, she and

I. We’re going to record two versions—a power
ballad, high vocals version, then one with the boys,
complete with drums, bass, and heavy guitar riffs. It
was our idea to do two of the same songs, recorded
differently to try to market them to both the rock
and pop crowds. Ronan was true to his word. I
proved to him I could stay off drugs and out of
trouble, and he renegotiated our contract. “Burn”
was just a glimpse of what I could do, and he knew
that.

It’s been number one for eight weeks straight

with no signs of moving from the top spot.

Ever since that night at Sofina’s bar, it caught

fire and has blazed bright since.

You rip me apart and I don’t care.
Everywhere. You’re everywhere.
I scribble down the newest possible lyrics.

Tonight, I’ll suck Blaine’s dick, then ask for the
password to the wireless Wi-Fi access point he
brought with us in case Ronan needs to be in touch.
We’re at the cabin, which he likes to keep
technology free, but sometimes if I work him just
right, he calls me a good boy and gives me
whatever the fuck I want. Tonight, I just want to
Facetime with my new friend Sofina and see what
she thinks.

“Usually when you smirk like that, you’re

about to get into trouble,” Blaine says as he shuts

the front door behind him.

I’m stunned stupid at the sight of him. He’s

been out front chopping wood like a fuckin’
lumberjack since a winter storm is said to be
coming this week. But my hot-blooded man is
drenched in sweat and had long-lost his fitted
Henley. My mouth waters as I take in his ripped,
tattooed muscles.

Fuck, he’s hot.
“What?” he asks, arching a brow and rubbing

his palm down his chiseled abs. “Like something
you see?”

I laugh. “You’re an asshole. You do this shit on

purpose, don’t you? Distract me from work.”

“We come here so you’ll play too,” he says, his

dark eyes gleaming with wickedness.

Rising from the couch, I toss the notebook

aside and stalk over to him. His masculine scent—
salty with a hint of pine—makes me thirsty to lick
every inch of wetness from him. I settle for a
heated kiss that has him gripping my ass hard.

“I think I could take a break to play,” I tease,

nipping at his bottom lip.

He pulls away, grinning. “Let me shower first.

Stay right here like a good boy. I’ll be back.”

As soon as he turns to go upstairs, I roll my

eyes. I watch his back muscles flex as he walks up
the steps, and I check out his ass. Stay. Yeah
fucking right.

I rip off my shirt and prowl after him. Never

will I get enough of this man. It still freaks me out
sometimes that I’ve given up on pussy to settle for
one dick. When I’m feeling low, it messes with my
head a little. But all it takes is a kiss from Blaine to
send my heart ratcheting through my chest. He
chases away all the unease and confusion, filling
me with certainty and him. Together, we fit. We’re
fucking perfect. I don’t have to prove it to the
world, just him. And every day, I work hard to
show Blaine I’m a man worth having.

It turns out, Owen was also right. Our fans

don’t care who I love. Women still want me, and so
do men. But more than that, they want our music.

The sound of the shower running greets me the

moment I enter our room. Blaine is already naked
and stepping under the spray. I strip out of my
clothes, hot on his heels. When I make it under the
hot spray, he shakes his head at me.

“You disobeyed me, boy.”
He loves it.
Fucker loves punishing me, so I’m a good boy if

we’re being fucking frank. I’m giving him what he
wants. The chance to whip me into submission in a
way that gets both our dicks hard.

“I’m a rebel,” I tell him with a grin as I grab the

soap. “Can I make it up to you?”

His eyes darken as he nods. I start soaping his

chest, running my fingers along the grooves of his V

muscles, purposefully touching him everywhere but
his hard-as-stone cock.

“You’re a tease,” he growls.
“You like it.”
He doesn’t argue. When I forcefully turn him

around, he laughs, the rich sound echoing in the
shower. Playfully, I smack his wet ass.

“Maybe I’m going to be in charge this time,” I

taunt.

“Cute,” he grunts. “Really fucking cute.”
I hug him from behind, rubbing my dick

between the crack of his ass. “You’re going to take
it, boy,” I mock in a deep voice. “Every long inch.”

He growls.
The soap slips from my grip and hits the floor.
“Pick it up, boy,” I order, pretending to sound

like him. “Pick it up so I can fuck your tight hole.”

I’m spun around so fast and slammed against

the shower wall, I’m surprised he doesn’t send us
through the glass. His eyes are fire and lust, burning
wildly as he grips my throat tight. Our dicks are
hard, sandwiched between us, wet and soapy.

“You’re in trouble now,” he warns, his eyes

dipping to look down at my mouth.

I lick my lips and grin. “Good. Now punish me

so I can get the Wi-Fi password.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and I

mentally high-five myself for almost getting him to
smile after I’ve pissed him off. He quickly schools

his features and grabs my wrist with his other hand,
guiding it to his hot cock.

“You’re going to have to earn it, boy.”
I jack him off under the water, washing away

the remnants of the soap, then drop to my knees,
my eyes never leaving his. He grips a handful of my
hair and hisses the moment I tease his tip with my
tongue.

As I take him deep in my mouth, I can’t help

but feel at peace. Blaine was everything I never
knew I needed. He somehow knew and was drawn
to me. And he forced me to face things I may never
have been able to do on my own.

Now he owns every part of me.
He thrusts hard, sliding easily into my throat

and making my muscles constrict. My mind dances
with all the possibilities of how he’ll take me
tonight. All night. Hard, brutal, relentless. And at
the end of the night, we’ll fall together in a mess of
sweaty limbs and whispered I love yous.

Sorry, Sof, no work tonight.
I’m about to be a bad boy and play with my

man.

All. Night. Long.
Darting my eyes up to Blaine’s, I flash him an

evil look before scraping my teeth along his dick.

“That right there will get you in trouble,” he

growls.

Pulling off his cock, I smirk. “A spanking?”

His eyes narrow. “Use your imagination, boy.”
My mind reels with a million things he could do

to me. All dark, devious, and hot as hell.

I can’t fucking wait.

The End

Play Me

Up Next!

From international bestselling authors, Ker Dukey

and K Webster comes a fast-paced, hot, instalove

standalone lunchtime read from their KKinky

Reads collection!

Pretty Little Dolls Series:

Pretty Stolen Dolls (Book 1)

Pretty Lost Dolls (Book 2)

Pretty New Doll (Book 3)

Pretty Broken Dolls (Book 4)

The V Games Series:

Vlad (Book 1)

Ven (Book 2)

Vas (Book 3)

KKinky Reads Collection:

Hurt Me

The Elite Seven Series:

by Ker Dukey

by J.D. Hollyfield

by Claire C. Riley

by MN Forgy

by K Webster

by Giana Darling

by Ker Dukey and K Webster

Four Fathers Series:

Blackstone

by Jessica Hollyfield

Kingston

by Dani Rene

Pearson

by K Webster

Wheeler

by Ker Dukey

Four Sons Series:

by Ker Dukey

by J.D Hollyfield

by Dani René

by K Webster

Watch Me

Camden by K Webster

For more of Ker Dukey’s books,

check her out

here

For more of K Webster’s books,

check her out

here

Thank you to our hottie husbands. Baby Daddy and
Mr. Webster are the real inspirations…even in this
book…especially in this book…

Ker and K love each other and would normally use
this section to thank each other, but they like to
save the real thanks when they’re alone on video
chat…

A huge thank you to our reader groups. You all are
insanely supportive and we can’t thank you
enough.

Thanks so much to Terrie Arasin and Misty Walker!
Two of the best PAs everrrr! We love you ladies!

A gigantic thank you to those who always help K
out. Elizabeth Clinton, Ella Stewart, Misty Walker,
Holly Sparks, Jillian Ruize, Gina Behrends, Wendy
Rinebold and Nikki Ash—you ladies are amazing!

Great thanks to Ker’s awesome ladies for helping
make this book is as awesome as can be! Couldn’t
have done it without you: Ashley Cestra, Rosa
Saucedo, PA Allison, Teresa Nicholson, and
KimBookJunkie.

A big thank you to our author friends who have
given us your friendship and your support. You
have no idea how much that means to us.

Thank you to all of our blogger friends both big and
small that go above and beyond to always share our
stuff. You all rock! #AllBlogsMatter

Monica with Word Nerd Editing, thank you SO
much for editing this book. You rock!!

Thank you Stacey Blake for being amazing as
always when formatting our books and in general.
We love you!

Lastly but certainly not least of all, thank you to all
of the wonderful readers out there who are willing
to hear our stories and enjoy the characters like we
do. It means the world to us!

My books all tend to be darker romance, the edge
of your seat, angst-filled reads. My advice to my
readers when starting one of my titles... prepare for
the unexpected.

I have always had a passion for storytelling,
whether it be through lyrics or bedtime stories with
my sisters growing up.

My mom would always have a book in her hand
when I was young and passed on her love for
reading, inspiring me to venture into writing my
own. Not all love stories are made from light- some
are created in darkness but are just as powerful and
worth telling.

When I’m not lost in the world of characters, I love

spending time with my family. I’m a mom and that
comes first in my life, but when I do get down time,
I love attending music concerts or reading events
with my younger sister.

Contact me here:

Ker:

Kerryduke34@gmail.com

Ker’s PA:

terriesin@gmail.com

K Webster is a USA Today Bestselling author. Her
titles have claimed many bestseller tags in
numerous categories, are translated in multiple
languages, and have been adapted into audiobooks.
She lives in “Tornado Alley” with her husband, two
children, and her baby dog named Blue. When
she’s not writing, she’s reading, drinking copious
amounts of coffee, and researching aliens.

Keep up with K Webster

Document Outline

Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Epigraph
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Books by Ker Dukey and K Webster
Acknowledgements from Ker Dukey and K Webster
About the Authors

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